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I LIBRARY OF CONGRESS.! 

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^UNITED STATES OF AMF.IMCA f 



THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 



BY THE SAME AUTHOR. 



HANS BRINKER; or, The Silver Skates. 

A Story of Life in Holland. By Mary Mapes Dodge, One vol., 
i2mo, cloth, j5i.5o. 

THE SAME. New and Superbly Illustrated Edition. 
One vol., izmo, cloth, with profuse illustrations, ;^3.oo. 

RHYMES AND JINGLES. 

By Mary Mapes Dodge, Author of "Hans Brinker." One vol., 
small 4to, cloth, with profuse illustrations, $3.00. 

THE SAME. New and Cheaper Edition. 

One vol., i2mo, cloth, J1.50. 



*#* Sent, postpaid, on receipt of price, hy the Publishers, 

SCRIBNER, ARMSTRONG, & CO., 

743-745 Broadway, New York. 



Theophilus and Others 



7)" - ' MARY MAPES DODGE 

AUTHOR OF "HANS BRINKER ; OR, THE SILVER SKATES,' 
" RHYMES AND JINGLES," ETC. 



UW^' 



Vx-^*- . 



NEW YORK 

SCRIBNER, ARMSTRONG, AND COMPANY 

1876 






COPYKIGHT. 

MARY MAPES DODGE, 

1876. 



Stereotyped and Printed by Rand, Avery, cSr" Co., Boston. 



L. G. R. 



PREFACE. 
— • — 

These tales and talks, most of which have appeared 
in various periodicals, are now, at the urgent solicitation 
of friends, &c., &c., &c. 

Their preparation has enlivened hours of, &c., &c., &c. 

If this little volume shall, &c., &c. 

In conclusion, the author begs, &c., &c., &c. 

M. M. D. 



CONTENTS. 



PAGB 

DoBBs's Horse : . . i 

Philly and the Rest ^i 

Our Aggy 64 

Insanity of Cain 95 

Shoddy 107 

My Mysterious Enemy 141 

What a Little Song can do 158 

The Spirit of the Waterfall 169 

Sunday Afternoon in a Poor-House 185 

Miss Malony on the Chinese Question .... 194 

Our Debating Society Skeleton 201 

Sunshine 207 

Migratory Husbands 213 

Up with the Times 216 

March. What it has done for us 221 

The Rights of the Body 236 

Woman's Driving 240 

United Ages 243 



THEOPHILUS. 



DoBBS's Horse. 




IVE years ago, Theophilus and I prepared to 
realize the dream of our married life. We 
bought a cottage in the country. This great 
event really sprang from a tiny speck of ivory that had 
made more stir in coming into this world than the most 
enormous tusk ever thrust by elephant into an Indian 
jungle. I need not add that it was our Philly's first 
tooth. 

Philly, christened Theophilus after his father, stood 
third on our family record. Being the first male item, he 
was invested with peculiar interest. Indeed, to our dis- 
cerning eyes, he at once evinced traits which lifted him 
far above all other babies in the created world. And 
now the dear little fellow was teething. 

Julie and Nelly had in turn wrestled with a similar 
experience ; but they were only girls. They were not 
even silent partners in the prospective Brown & Son, the 
very thought of which firm had made Theophilus look 
foolish, and strut about the house, before Philly was a 
week old. It was only when our parental career entered 



2 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

its third denticurate, that we doubted the force of that 
modern emendation, — 

" How sharper than a thankless serpent, 'tis 
To have a toothless child ! " 

What wonder that, as Pliilly, growing paler and weaker 
every day, kicked and screamed liis protest against the 
existing order of things, Theophilus became less pompous 
concerning him ; and finally bowed his head meekly at my 
announcing one mornmg at breakfast, that "something 
must be done at once." Every truly wedded man knows 
very well what " something must be done " means when 
his wife says it. It means penetration. It means com- 
pliance. It means that all the hints lately sown on his 
unsuspecting mind are expected to burst suddenly into 
full flower. Therefore, when Theophilus heard me say 
that something must be done, he at once responded, — 

" Well, my dear, I suppose we shall have to try country 
air : the child certainly is failing." 

The point was gained. My hints had bloomed. But 
this was only a bud, and I wanted the full-blown flower. 
So I remarked — with the air of a woman who had other 
things to think of — that he was right ; the baby was 
failing ; and, as far as my experience went, I thought that 
a country hotel or boarding-house would soon finish him. 

" Then what is to be done ? " cried Theophilus, thor- 
oughly alarmed, and in a highly receptive condition. 

Lifting the lid of the coffee-pot. and peering into it 
with intense interest, I remarked abstractedly, that when 
people wished to go to the country, and had objections 
to boarding, they generally hired a cottage or something 
of that kind. 



nOBBS'S HORSE. 3 

Now, one need not have gone through Euclid, nor 
studied Whately, to know that this pretty breakfast scene 
finally resolved itself into a snug little country-box. To 
be candid, Theophilus, considering our city expenses, was 
not in a position to purchase just such a place as we 
wanted. Our " box " was not all that could be desired : 
still it was in the country ; and imagination festooned its 
porch with coming vines, and rejoiced in the proposed 
lawn where our little ones should roll " like tumbled 
fruit." The advertisement which had attracted us toward 
the place, described it as being well stocked with trees of 
every description. In fact, we purchased it mainly on the 
representations of this same advertisement. Theophilus 
had time to pay it only a flying visit after business hours ; 
and, as the owner declared that no less than " six other 
gentlemen " were eager to pounce upon the prize, we 
really did not dare to deliberate. 

Accordingly, Theoph hired a man-of-all-work, and, be- 
fore despatching him to the scene of action, gave him a 
written list of orders, foremost among which were special 
instructions concerning the aforesaid vines and lawn. 
There was to be a fine vegetable-patch in the rear ; and, 
as well as I could make out from Theoph's chart, the 
space between lawn and kitchen-garden was to be filled 
with roses, honeysuckles, shrubs of all kinds, and showy 
annuals of every hue imaginable. 

" Aren't you afraid, Theoph, dear," I suggested, " you 
will have rather too much ? I like the idea of all this 
luxuriance ; but we must avoid confusion of effect, you 
know. Beside, it appears to me, you have left scarcely 
room for us to walk about among the flowers." 



4 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

" Better to have too much than too little, Emma. It 
will be very easy to ' thin out ' after we are settled, if we 
find the garden overcrowded. As we have named the 
place ' Flowery Grove,' it strikes me we can hardly have 
too many flowers." 

" That's true, Theoph : how delightful it will be ! We'll 
sit out under the vines when you come up from town in 
the afternoon (so different from that bleak piazza at 
Stamford ) ; and, while the children are rolling and chas- 
ing each other about the lawn, we can read and talk to 
our hearts' content. Oh, it will be grand ! " 

Theoph kissed me, and said in his cheerful way that the 
very prospect made me look bright and rosy again ; but 
he shook his head gravely when he heard Philly's feeble 
cry, and asked why in the world we couldn't go there at 
once. The gardener's wife must have the cottage all 
cleaned by this time, he said ; and I had nothing to do 
but to go. 

With the moths already flying about, it was trying to a 
woman with five Brussels carpets and all the parlor cur- 
tains and furniture on her mind, — to say nothing of the 
summer's shopping, — to hear the grand business of mov- 
ing into the country for a summer spoken of so cavalierly ; 
but I conquered the outraged spirit within, and even 
entered into an amicable consultation with Theophilus 
concerning the amount of furniture required for our five- 
room cottage. 

His counsel was invaluable. Better to take up almost 
nothing in the furniture line, he said. We needed only 
to fit out a comfortable sitting-room, — something a little 
tasteful, you know ; four or five bedrooms for the family ; 



DOBBS'S HORSE. 5 

a dining-room of some sort; and — oh yes! — a spare 
room by all means, for he meant to have Dobbs up there 
half the time ; and, above all, plenty of kitchen equip- 
ments, for if there was any thing in the world he did hate, 
it was a half-way dinner. 

Striving to look as much like St. Cecilia as possible, 
and yet retain an impressive cast of countenance, I ven- 
tured to suggest, at this point, that there were but four 
rooms in the house besides the kitchen. 

" No ! " exclaimed Theophilus, staring innocently. 

" I have counted them, my dear," I replied, with con- 
centrated quietness of tone. 

"You've counted them wrong, then, my love." 

" Now, Theoph, do be reasonable. There's the large 
sitting-room on the first floor : you surely don't call the 
crockery-closet between it and the kitchen a room ? " 

" No," said Theophilus meekly, at the same time hold- 
ing up the first finger of his left hand to represent the sit- 
ting-room. 

" Then, on the second floor there's the small bedroom 
for Ellen, over the hall." 

Up went another finger. 

"Well, the little room makes two ; then there's the large 
front one, where the ceiling was bro " — 

" By George ! " cried Theoph, dropping his patent tally 
in a twinkling, " there's Dobbs ! " 

Alas ! Dobbs was indeed crossing the street. 

My husband was soon in the hall, holding the front door 
wide open. 

" Hallo ! old fellow, how are you ? " cried a hearty 
voice. 



6 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

" All right, thank yovi. Walk in, walk in." 

Then there was a slight shuffling of boots on the oil- 
cloth ; and in the next instant I heard the parlor blinds 
thrust violently open. 

"Ha, ha!" laughed Mr. Dobbs ; "that is something 
like. Now one can see out. Why in the world, Brown, 
do all you married men keep your parlors so dark ? " 

Whatever Theoph's reply may have been, it is to this 
day locked in the bosom of Mr. Dobbs, for I couldn't hear 
it. The question made a deep impression upon me, how- 
ever ; and after that I took care to have the parlors rather 
lighter than formerly. 

Why Mr. Dobbs should have been so fond of Mr. 
Brown, and why Mr. Brown so doted on Mr. Dobbs, are 
questions that I never expect to solve while in the flesh. 
To spiritual ken the mystery may be revealed clear as day. 
So I must be patient, and content myself by remarking 
that, in all the annals of masculine friendship, I have 
never met with so remarkable a case. 

Mr. Dobbs was good enough in his way, but no more 
like Theoph than I to Hercules. In the first place, he 
was one of the restless sort, or, as he forcibly expressed 
it, " always on the go." He was a superb gymnast too : 
Theoph never moved a muscle unnecessarily, and looked 
forward to a heaven of perfect rest. Theoph liked style 
and elegance : Mr. Dobbs despised both. Mr. Dobbs was 
soothing and conciliatory : Theophilus was an inveterate 
tease. Mr. Dobbs evinced a peculiar distaste for children : 
Theoph had doted on them since his own toddlehood. 
Mr. Dobbs was never unconquerable : Theoph's stubborn- 
ness, when fairly aroused, amounted to inspiration. The- 



nOBBS'S HORSE. 7 

opiiilus was extremely fond of music : Mr. Dobbs wished 
that the heavenly maid had died young. Dobbs delighted 
to shock one with his moral and social heterodoxy : Theoph 
was a model of propriety. Theoph was fastidious, too, in 
his personal habits : Dobbs was careless to a fault. Theopli 
revelled in the choicest literature : Mr. Dobbs never read 
a line if he could avoid it. 

Yet, I repeat, these two men clung to each other with a 
love marvellous to behold. The friendship of Damon 
and Pythias was as nothing compared to it ; for the two 
Syracusans were willing only to die for each other ; and 
these were willing to live in friendship in spite of differ- 
ences of opinion and taste. 

Therefore, when Theophilus discovered that there would 
be no spare room for his dear Dobbs, he stood transfixed 
with dismay and a sense of desolation. But Dobbs, noth- 
ing discouraged, assured him it was a matter of no conse- 
quence at all: he could be stowed away anywhere, — in 
the barn, under a hen-coop, on the kitchen-dresser, for that 
matter, 

"But," exclaimed my spouse, forgetting proprieties in 
his despair, " there isn't any dresser, hang it ! " 

"Well," rejoined Dobbs soothingly, "there'll be a sofa 
or a table ; or we'll swing a hammock somewhere : never 
fear, man." 

Just then Nelly, our bright-eyed little three-year-old, ran 
into the room. 

Mr. Dobbs felt, that, as a friend of the family, he must 
notice her. 

" Come here, sis ; " and two fingers beckoned her 
mechanically. > 



8 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

Nelly drew back. A child can always detect the taint 
of Herod, cover it as one may. 

It was all the same to Mr. Dobbs: he had done his 
duty. Still, for friendship's sake, he would add one more 
touch ; so he resumed, looking sympathetically first at us, 
and then at the ruddy little creature, — 

" Ah, yes ! teething, I think you said. Yes : she looks 
badly " — 

"Ha! ha!" laughed Theophilus. "That's not the 
baby." Dobbs fell back in a mock swoon. I was too 
indignant to make any comment. Theophilus, I am sure, 
would have been disgusted with such stupidity in any other 
man ; but it was only irresistibly funny and fascinating in 
Dobbs. 

The gentleman redeemed himself, however, before the 
evening was over, by covering the chandeliers for me. 
Theophilus would as soon have thought of offering to 
wrap up the moon. I saw him wince, though, when his 
Damon, taking off his coat, carelessly tossed it on the 
piano, before proceeding to business. 

We were in our country-box at last; and, before we 
were fairly settled, Philly began to show decided signs 
of improvement. That was the main thing, of course. 
But how shall I describe the sense of disappointment 
with which we gradually awoke to the conviction that our 
imagination had been far more fertile than our land ? that 
the vines and flowers which had sprung up so profusely 
there were of exceeding slow growth in actual soil .'' The 
" trees of every description " were so young and tender 
that they were visible only from particular points of view. 



DOBBS'S HORSE. 9 

Bare was our porch in June ; and, but for a neighbor's 
hint, bare it would have remained. Our gardener's vine 
was one of the " slow and sure " kind, warranted to cover 
the lattice in five years ; whereas Theoph and I were 
hardly willing to wait as many clays. 

The hint proved cheering, however ; for, with our neigh- 
bor's assistance, we planted morning-glory seed on one 
side of the porch, and Madeira roots on the other ; and, 
I am happy to say, Theoph and I did sit under the shadow 
of its vines before the summer was over — that is, when 
the mosquitoes allowed us the privilege. 

As for the velvety lawn, if a wide expanse bearing six 
stones to each blade of grass constitutes a lawn, we had 
one with a vengeance. The flower-garden also fell short 
of our anticipations, certainly as far as luxuriance was 
concerned. Most of the " showy annuals " were like their 
modest sisters alluded to by Gray : they " blushed unseen," 
if they ever blushed at all ; for we never saw any thing 
but their tombstones, or rather the labels which, at the 
time of planting, Mike had carefully erected over the 
grave of each particular variety. 

The kitchen-garden was more promising ; and that was 
some consolation, after all. For what, as our neighbor Miss 
Kimso observed, are so delightful as pure, sweet, country 
vegetables, fresh from " your own vines and fig-trees ? " 
It was a peculiarity of Miss Kimso, be it known, never on 
any account to use a quotation correctly, though she was 
overflowing with them at all hours, and upon all occasions. 
They invariably came either in the wrong place or in 
the wrong way. 

Blithe and agile, apparently nearing her fortieth sum- 



lO THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

mer, with light curls falling, " in a spring-like way," on 
either side of a face over which Time had tenderly drawn 
his finger, pressing hardest round the mouth and eyes, she 
diffused an electric influence that had light rather than 
life in it. Her short, quick footfall impressed one with 
a sense of the instability of things generally. If there 
were strength anywhere, it was in her eye ; but it was the 
strength of banded sentiments rather than of thought, — 
of kindliness rather than of sacrifice. That a warm heart 
was fluttering somewhere in her wisp-like little body, we 
soon had ample proof. From the evening of our arrival, 
when she ran over with a kettle of hot tea and a dish of 
buttered biscuit, saying, by way of apology, that she was a 
stranger, but " were we not all men and brothers t " we 
felt that we should like her, whatever might be her pecu- 
liarities. 

We soon discovered that she lived alone with a colored 
servant in her little cottage nearby; but we did not know 
for some time of the shadow that in early life had fallen 
upon her, and that was now only temporarily lifted. 

After a while we began to feel quite comfortable in our 
new abode. The servants ceased to complain that the 
place was " so dreary-like." As for the children, they were 
in Elysium, and revelled and romped from morning till 
night. Here and there a flower bloomed on some solitary 
spike ; and a faint greenish hue broke out in spots over our 
lawn. Our one surviving pear-tree was an unfailing source 
of expectant admiration ; and Miss Kimso's cow, with a 
tinkling bell swinging from its neck, served to give a rustic 
charm to the scene. Besides, the birds exerted themselves 
when they found we were not dull-eared country-folk ; and 



nOBBS'S HORSE. II 

crickets and katydids gave a pulse to the very air wc 
breathed. Theoph found comfort in the dozens of books 
whicli he had smuggled among the baggage, though the 
children's muddy shoes and their freckled little noses dis- 
tressed him exceedingly. 

The crowning joy of all, however, was our horse and 
rockaway. Theophilus and I had held many a consulta- 
tion before we decided upon this piece, or rather these 
pieces, of extravagance. But there was a snug little barn 
on the premises, and Philly needed the rides so much, and, 
in short, we wished it ; and when did any one ever cultivate 
a wish without producing a plentiful crop of good reasons 
in its favor ? 

I may inform the trusty reader that our rockaway was 
second-hand ; as good as new, however, or even better, if 
the representations of Messrs, Jacobs & Co., carriage deal- 
ers, could be relied upon. The horse was represented to 
be a rare combination of physical perfection and all the 
cardinal virtues. Certainly a prettier, more graceful ani- 
mal, never trod in harness. His ways, too, were so grand ! 
He would paw the earth with impatient hoof, and curve his 
neck, as though he felt the blood of old Bucephalus cours- 
ing in his veins. The daintiness of his appetite was 
charming ; and for a while our great pastime, whenever he 
was brought to the door, was to pull up spears of grass for 
him, and put lumps of sugar, one by one, into his lordly 
mouth. I used often to lay my cheek against his warm 
neck, and fancy myself Di Vernon, until one day Mike 
startled me with, — 

"Have a care, or he'll be steppin' on yer foot, mum ! 
He was near takin' the toes off meself this mornin'." 



12 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

I sprang back, knocking Julie and Nelly over in the 
act. 

" Why, Mike, you don't mean to say that there's any 
thing vicious about him, do you ? " 

" Well, indade, mum, perraps he's not afther knowin' 
that your fate's any tinderer thin his own is," he answered, 
adjusting the harness as he spoke ; " and the flies has him 
oneasy like. Would ye be wantin' me to drive, mum, or 
is the gentleman intendin' to go ? " 

" I shall drive," answered Theophilus, stepping from the 
porch. 

When we were all in, — two on the front seat, and two 
on the back, — Mike retreated a few steps, and, without 
raising his eyes, said, — 

" Would ye be stoppin' at the village, sir ? " 

" Yes," replied Theoph, tightening the reins. " Why? " 

"There's hay a-wantin,' sir, if ye'd plaze spake till them 
about it down to the bridge." 

Theoph nodded, and off we started. The horse went 
beautifully, and his driver was in high spirits. 

" There's a stride for you ! " he exclaimed, after a 
moment's silence. " Free as air ; isn't it ? " 

If Theophilus has one weakness greater than another, it 
is for fine horses. 

After we had stopped at the village post-office, attended 
to a little marketing, and left an order for the hay, Theoph 
turned the horse's head homeward. 

" I say, Em, this is a glorious animal ! I can sell him 
in the fall for double his cost. Why in the world Jacobs 
let me have him for a hundred and fifty, I cannot con- 
ceive." 



DOBBS'S HORSE. 1 3 

" He belonged to Jacobs's brother, you remember, who 
was going unexpectedly to California," I said, 

"Yes," returned Theoph ; "but Jacobs was probably 
ignorant of his worth. He said he knew nothing at all 
about horse-flesh. He's descended from the famous Black 
Prince, you know," 

" Who ? Jacobs ? " I asked, in astonishment. 

" No : the horse. It strikes me, Emma," continued 
Theophilus between his teeth, "you're inclined to be 
rather facetious this morning." 

" Oh, not at all, darling ! go on. I love to hear you talk 
about the beautiful creature." 

"Who? Jacobs?" 

Of course I pouted now. Theoph would have been 
quite restored to good humor by his own joke, had not the 
horse's tail become heavily entangled in the lines at this 
moment. 

" That rascally Mike has forgotten the fly-net again ! 
The fellow is too careless for any thing ! " 

"It is provoking," I assented amiably; "especially as I 
called to him, while he was harnessing the horse, not to 
forget it." 

" By the way, Em," said Theophilus, freeing the lines 
with a skilful flourish, " I heard you calling from the win- 
dow, ' Mi-eke, Mi-eke ! ' and do you know, dear, it jarred 
me. If the man had any other name, I should not mind 
it ; but ' Mike ' is so horribly plebeian ! Mike here, Mike 
there : it really sounds badly, indeed it does, and has an 
unhappy effect upon the children. This nicknaming of 
servants is terrible." 

" Very well," said I meekly : " we can call him ' Michael,' 
if you prefer it." 2 



14 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

" That is not much better," persisted Theoph. " Call him 
by his surname : that's the only way, — O'Brian, or Riley, 
or whatever it may be. Everybody does so nowadays." 

So when we drove up to the front-door, and our master 
of horse duly presented himself, Theoph accosted him 
abruptly with, — 

" Here, fellow, what is your last name ? " 

*' Me last name, sir," stammered the man in great as- 
tonishment, " I never had but the one, sir." 

" Well, what is it ? " 

" It's Mike, it is, yer honor." 

" Mike what?" roared Theophilus. 

" Och ! I ax yer pardon, sir, — Mike Deerey. It's 
yerself writ it in yer buk the day I was afther comin' to ye, 
sir." 

" It will sound beautifully, Theoph, won't it ? " said I 
wickedly, as we entered the cottage together. " I can say, 
' Bring the horse to the door at five, Deerey.' * Don't for- 
get the fly-net, Deerey.' Nothing could be more aristo- 
cratic." 

Theoph tried to laugh good-naturedly; but I know it 
was something besides our Deerey's carelessness that 
caused him to be discharged about a week afterward. 

One bright morning in June, it occurred to me that 
there could not be the slightest possible harm in taking 
the nurse and children to the village myself. The rocka- 
way was in perfect order ; and Prince was so gentle, that, 
as Jacobs had said, a baby could manage him. Besides, 
Miss Kimso would be delighted to accompany me : she 
declared that she wasn't at all afraid of horses, and would 
gladly " hold the noble Rosinante" while I was in the store. 



DOBBS'S HORSE. 1 5 

Accordingly our party was soon ready to start. Miss 
Kimso and I were on the front seat ; and Ellen the nurse, 
Philly, and the two little girls, were compactly stowed 
away in the rear. 

It was a lovely day ; and we enjoyed our ride to the 
utmost. Philly actually crowed with delight ; and his 
sisters, when they ceased complaining that they were " so 
cwowded," laughed and sang with glee. 

A pleasant letter from my dear friend Mary C was 

handed me at the village post-office ; our purchases were 
made, and we were turning out of the village ; when sud- 
denly an unusual sound in that region broke upon us, — the 
sound of a brass band in the distance, playing that inspirit- 
ing air, "The Campbells are coming." It proceeded from 
a showy-looking wagon that was moving slowly toward us. 
The effect was really charming. Nelly cried, "So-jers, 
so-jers ! " and but for the nurse would have sprung from the 
rockaway in her excitement. I chirruped to Prince, and 
gave myself up to the pleasure of the moment. 

The notes grew more distinct. Flags were waved mer- 
rily from the approaching wagon, and Master Prince stood 
stock-still, and pricked up his ears. 

" Ah 1 " said Miss Kimso, rolling up her eyes, " ' Music 
hath charms to soothe the savage beast : ' let him listen." 

Prince did listen; and, listening, he concluded to accom- 
pany the music with a merry dance. He pranced, he 
ambled, he chasseed ; and finally he stood on his hind legs, 
and bowed to an imaginary partner before commencing 
the grand galopade. 

Ellen and the children screamed. Miss Kimso with a 
shriek clutched at the reins, and I instantly recalled every 
cross word I had ever said to Theophilus. 



l6 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

In a moment two men had the descendant of the Black 
Prince by the head, and were speaking soothingly to him. 

" Whoa, boy ! whoa, boy ! " 

His royal highness, after a few more flourishes and fan- 
tastic turns, subsided into a pathetic tremble. 

"Jim," said one of the men in a low tone, "there's one 
of them blasted circuses a-comin ' : you'd best drive the 
ladies home. It's Miss Brown, you know, — the Yorkers 
that bought Weeks's cottage. Couldn't that young woman 
there on the back seat walk home ? " he continued, looking 
toward Ellen, and raising his voice. " It ain't more'n a 
mile an' a 'alf." 

"It's /a/(?," muttered the other man : "it's a good two." 

Ellen was glad enough to get out. 

" An' will I carry the child, mum ? " she asked, compos- 
ing her skirts with one hand while supporting Philly, pro- 
fessionally, with the other. 

" Oh no, he's too heavy ! " cried Miss Kimso, jumping 
nimbly over to the back seat. " Here, hand him to me, 
the sweet, budding innocent. I'll take good care of him." 

Jim sprang in beside me, and drove off cautiously amidst 
a shower of " Thank yous " from Miss Kimso and myself. 

Just before we came to a bend in the road. Master 
Prince began to prick up his ears again. Jim gave me 
the reins in a twinkling. " Good land ! " he exclaimed, 
jumping out, and seizing the animal by the head, " he 
smells somethin' a-comin', depend on it ! " 

Indeed he did, — two great elephants, and a party of 
horsemen. We could see them distinctly now. 

" Keep yer seats, ladies : there ain't no danger ! " 
panted Jim, as the horse's head gave his arm some pretty 
vigorous jerks. " There, whoa, boy ! whoa, whoa ! " 



DOBBS'S HORSE. 1 7 

Strange to say, Prince faced the elephant more bravely 
than he did the music. He twitched and trembled all 
over at first, and seemed ready to drop with fear ; but the 
man's voice and touch gradually re-assured him. 

It was an old elephant and her young one. What won- 
der that a poor little horse should quiver and start beside 
that mighty bulk and ponderous tread ? 

The young elephant stalked closely beside its mother, 
and by the senseless flourishes of its trunk, and the 
twitches of its stumpy little tail, betrayed a youthful spirit 
that time and worldly cares had quite subdued in the parent. 

" O mamma ! " cried Julie, as soon as her astonishment 
would allow her to speak, — " O mamma, do look ! see 
the dear little baby elephant ! Isn't he too cunnin' .'' " 

"Yes, dear, very," I responded abstractedly, looking 
anxiously at Prince, who was about one-third of the dear 
little creature's size. 

We reached home without any further mishap. The- 
ophilus and Mr. Dobbs who had come up by an early train, 
stood by the gate to welcome us. 

Theoph gave one of his queer looks, as he spied the 
coatless youth beside me j but Dobbs took in the thing at 
a glance : 

" Aha ! Plorse has been a little fractious, hey ? " 

Then you should have heard TheoiDh ! 

Text : Woman's driving. 

The next day, after dinner, my husband blandly proposed 
a drive. " Will you go, Em ? " said he. 

" Not to-day, dear, thank you. I have lost my confi- 
dence in Prince somewhat." 



1 8 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

" Nonsense, Em ! I'd like to see the horse I can't 
manage. Besides, one doesn't meet elephants in this 
latitude every day. Put on your things, love : we'll drive 
to Llewellyn Park." 

Llewellyn Park was always a conquering temptation with 
me. While putting on my bonnet, I saw our new man 
Kelly drive Prince to the door. The beautiful creature 
looked so gentle, and pawed the ground so reflectively, 
that my foolish fears were gone in an instant. I called 
out of the window to my spouse, — 

" Shall we take Philly, dear ? " 

" Certainly, by all means," he replied, " if the little 
dumpling is not too heavy for you." 

"I'll hold her," called up Mr. Dobbs, looking utterly 
wretched in an instant. 

" Oh, no ! " laughed Theoph. " Let the nurse come 
also, Em. There is plenty of room." Then I heard 
him say in a severe undertone to his friend, — 

" How often must I tell you, Dobbs, that the baby is a 
boy? — Theophilus Brown, junior: now don't forget it 
again." 

" Beg his pardon, really ; but you see the name ' Philly ' 
misled me. I thought it was Phillis. The rest of the 
children are all girls ; ain't they. Brown?" he asked, in a 
tone of deep interest. 

We were off at last. Prince, thoroughly penitent, never 
went better. If any thing, he showed scarcely enough 
spirit : still he was superb, and Theoph and I were very 
proud of him, especially as people in the neighborhood 
began by this time to know who we were. 

" He's a free goer," said Mr. Dobbs, regarding him 



DOBBS'S HORSE. 1 9 

critically. " Hallo ! he doesn't interfere a little in the 
hind legs, does he ? " 

"Of course not," rejoined Theoph scornfully. "Why, 
look at him, man ! There's not a sounder set of legs any- 
where. Did you notice his breadth of chest ? " 

" No ; but I see he's uncommon high in the flanks. 
He'd make a racer. Brown, that horse would ! " 

Theoph grew radiant. 

" Give him the reins, Brown. George ! what a neck he 
has ! He's kind, too, depend upon it. Not one animal 
in a hundred but would have run like all creation, coming 
suddenly upon an elephant in that way." 

" Certainly," assented Theoph, growing ecstatic: "I don't 
want any better test than that. You could walk him up 
to a whole menagerie, sir ! " 

Just then we heard a shout, and a muddy white pig came 
dashing through a farm-gate. 

I have a vague remembrance of clutching wildly for the 
baby, of seeing Dobbs high up in the air, of my cheek 
being dragged against the gravel, and of scrambling to my 
feet just in time to see Prince dashing off madly in the 
distance with our rockaway, minus top and passengers. 

What bundle was that lying heavily on the bushes be- 
side the road ? Theoph was picking it up. It was Philly. 
Paralyzed at the sight, I managed to gasp out, " O The- 
oph ! is he dead ? " 

" No, all right ! " he shouted, clasping the terrified little 
creature to his heart. "There's not a scratch on him, 
thanks to those good bushes ! " 

" Hallo, Brown ! " exclaimed a dusty figure sitting in the 
middle of the road ; " allow an old sinner to correct you. 
I'd give a little credit to Providence, if I were you." 



20 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

" Dobbs, my dear fellow, you all safe too ? Yes, in- 
deed, we have reason to thank Providence ! " he exclaimed 
fervently. 

" For which, the escape or the accident ? " asked the 
incorrigible Dobbs, getting up slowly, and knocking the 
dust from his clothes. 

" For both," returned Theoph solemnly. " Good gra- 
cious, Emma, look at your cheek ! " 

I couldn't very well look at my cheek, under the circum- 
stances ; and, as I certainly felt no sensation there, I 
scarcely noticed his exclamation, but ran over to Ellen, the 
nurse, who sat upon the grass looking wildly about her. 

Theophilus and Mr. Dobbs stood her upon her feet, and 
worked her arms like pump-handles. There were cer- 
tainly no bones broken. Yet she seemed bewildered, and 
unable to walk. 

" O Theoph dear ! she is injured internally," I cried in 
distress. " One of you must run to Orange for a doctor." 

" Howly Fathers ! where am I ? " broke forth the poor 
girl at last. 

"You're all safe now, Ellen," I replied, kneeling beside 
her, and putting my arm tenderly round her shoulder. 
" We have been thrown from the carriage. See, here's 
dear little Philly : don't you know him ? " 

Theoph held the baby on her lap. In an instant she 
caught him in her arms, and kissed him over and over 
again, sobbing as if her heart would break. 

" Och, me darlin', me darlin' ! Is it kilt ye are ? Ah, 
my poorty baby ! Bad luk to the murtherin' baste, thin ! " 

We knew she was all right now. This point settled, I 
suddenly felt a great tingling in my left cheek. Mr. 



DOBBS'S HORSE. 21 

Dobbs and Theoph were talking together. I heard the 
latter say hurriedly, — 

*' Yes : you may try. Somebody has probably caught 
him before this. I must stay, and attend to Em." 

By this time, there were several persons around us, — 
two teamsters, a sprinkling of deeply entertained children, 
and one fleshy lady, bearing a pitcher of water and a 
bundle of rags, who declared it was " the most mirac'lous 
accident " she ever heard of. 

The men were soon busily examining the remnants of 
our rockaway-top, lifting broken bits of iron, wood, and 
any amount of leather and torn-cushion arrangements. 

" If it hadn't a-bin sich a rotten old thing, it would a- 
gone harder with you," observed one of the men senten- 
tiously to my crestfallen Theophilus. 

" Yes : it must have went all to pieces at the first go," 
remarked the other teamster reflectively. 

The fat lady conducted our dilapidated party to her 
cottage near by, and in true Oriental style gave us water, 
and bade us wash, and be welcome. My cheek proved to 
be badly scraped ; but Theophilus, bless his heart ! is the 
tenderest nurse in the world, and soon made me compara- 
tively comfortable. 

Our habiliments, though, were past repair. Such look- 
ing objects as we were ! My " love of a bonnet " was a 
hopeless wreck. As for Theoph's clean linen " duster," it 
was past redemption by either soap or needle. Ellen was 
all excitement, and remembered the accident in its mi- 
nutest particulars. 

"Och! indade, ma'am," she repeated again and again, 
"but it was oreful. I saw the horris give one lep; and 

3* 



22 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

thin over we wint all forninst the other ! but I never once-t 
let go the dear child, ma'am, but jist held on till liim 
through it all. If ye'U belave me, ma'am, I gathered his 
very cloak around him : so I did." 

After setting our hearts all aglow with the thought that 
God's children Avere good and kind to each other after all, 
our adipose friend sent us home in her only vehicle, — a 
farm-wagon filled with clean straw. 

To our astonishment, as we neared the house, we saw 
Mr. Dobbs and the man rubbing down Prince, Avho, steam- 
ing and panting, stood near a cart-like looking affair that 
proved on inspection to be the remains of our lovely, 
" better-ash-new " rockaway. He had dashed in with it at 
a furious rate, much to the consternation of our home 
force. 

Poor Miss Kimso, standing in her doorway, declared 
that she had been struck motionless with terror. " I tried," 
she said, " to ask my Phoebe to run over and find out what 
had happened ; but the words ' stuck in my throat ' — like 
Macbeth's dagger. Oh, what a mercy it is that you're all 
safe ! " 

A lame, aching party were we the next day. Mr. Dobbs 
was sorely bruised, and couldn't think of going to town. 
Theoph and Kelly took Prince back to Mr, Jacobs, and 
entered their complaint. 

All the satisfaction they could get was that " he vash 
not a horsh-dealer — it vash his brudder's horsh — he know 
netting '"bout him — his brudder vash gone to Canadah " — 

" You told me California," interrupted poor Theoph. 

" Veil, vat if I did ? " retorted Mr. Jacobs, in no way 
disconcerted. " My brudder vill go to both country 'fore 



DOBBS'S HORSE. 23 

he come home. You ax me take de horsh off you hand ? 
Vat for ? I no vant him. A horsh run vay vonce, he ish 
no vorth zat " (snapping his fingers). 

Just as Theoph, after a despairing protest, was about to 
leave the spot in disgust, accompanied by Kelly and the 
Prince, Jacobs called him back. 

" I tell you vat I vill do ; and I can do no more. I can- 
not give you pig price for runavay horsh ; he ish not vort 
tventy dollar. But I vill do zis. You say you carriage all 
broke ; veil, I vill give you good coupe', most so good ash 
new, for him : vat you say to zat, hey ? " 

At first the offer was rejected with disdain ; but finally 
my Antonio, not having his Portia there to attend to the 
case, let it go by default. The (horse) flesh fell to Shy- 
lock, and the coupe was sent to " Flowery Grove " by the 
evening train. 

The only excuse Theophilus gave on his return to that 
prematurely named spot, was that he could not conscien- 
tiously sell the animal to any one else ; and he knew car- 
riage number one was past repairing. As to another 
horse, he really did not know how in the world he could 
spare the money to get one just then ; but he would try to 
manage it somehow. 

At this point Damon came to the rescue of his Pythias. 

" Brown," he exclaimed, springing from a recumbent 
position, and slapping Theophilus on the shoulder, " have 
I been asleep ? Why in the world didn't I think of it 
before ? There's just the very animal you want, over in 
Westchester County, waiting for you to come and take 
him." 

Theoph stared hopefully, and Mr. Dobbs continued, 



24 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

"Just the very thing, I tell you. A good, sound family 
horse ; not young, but all the safer for that. Has been a 
splendid-looking creature in his day ; but the people up 
there have let him go down a little. All they care for is 
to .get the price of his board. I have had my misgivings 
of late, that it's not exactly the right place for him. All 
you need do is to have him brought here at once. You 
will soon get him in high condition, and may have the full 
use of him for his keep. There you are, my man ! Hold ! 
I'll give him to you, though there's not another man in the 
world that should have him." 

Pythias thanked him heartily, and declared that he 
thought, under the circumstances, it would be about the 
best thing for both sides. 

" Certainly it would, my boy ; certainly it would," said 
Damon, tumbling back again on the sofa. "We'll have 
him here at once." 

As an interested spectator to the scene, I could not 
help wondering why Mr. Dobbs, who evidently was not 
burdened with a surplus of worldly treasure, should have 
assumed the expense of keeping a horse in this way. 
Theophilus relieved me by asking the question point- 
blank. 

Mr. Dobbs replied rather grufifly, — 

" He belonged to my mother," and closed his eyes with 
pretended drowsiness. I saw his lip tremble though, 
and from that hour have loved him in spite of his queer 
notions. 

The horse was on a farm in Westchester County, near 
the old cottage where our friend had lived through his 
happy childhood, and where his parents had, within a year 



DOBBS'S HORSE. 2$ 

of each other, ended their days, A simple marble slab 
in the village churchyard, bearing the inscription " Father 
and Mother," marks their resting-place. An old woman, 
living near the spot, has told me that she saw a tall, dark- 
haired gentleman planting the ivy and roses there with his 
own hands. 

Great was my surprise, on the second day after our 
upsetting, to receive a note from Theophilus, saying that 
he would not be up that night, and that he wished Mr. 
Dobbs, " lame or not, to come down, without fail, by the 
first train. No cause for alarm," the letter added ; it 
was "only a business affair requiring immediate attention," 
&c. 

On the next evening Theoph came back alone. 

"Well, Em," he exclaimed, while kissing all three of 
the children at once, " Dobbs is off ! " 

" Off ! Where ? " 

"Why, he's gone. Gone to California. A splendid 
opening for him turned up yesterday. He saw the parties 
last night, and was off this afternoon at a few hours' notice. 
The energy of that man is prodigious ! " 

" How long will he be away ? " 

" Oh! perhaps three months, perhaps a year; can't tell. 
Where's Kelly ? Down in the village ? " 

" Yes. Why ? " 

" I shall have to send him to Westchester by the first 
train to-morrow morning. Dobbs's horse is to be brought 
down." 

" That is good news ! " I exclaimed, quite delighted. 
"But how did you have an opportunity to make the 
arrangements ? " 
3 



26 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

" Oh ! Dobbs thinks of every thing. You never saw 
any thing like it. Just before he started, he handed me 
this letter, which he says will make it all right with Fowler, 
the man who has the horse. The last thing he said, as 
the boat was let go, was, ' Take care of old Charley, my 
boy. " Love me, love my dog," you remember.' And 
then he waved his handkerchief, and was off." - 

It was strange to hear Theoph sigh. But we took a 
walk around the place together ; found an isolated flower 
or two ; counted, for the twentieth time, the four pears on 
our tree ; watched the chickens \ looked into the stable to 
see that all was comfortable there for the expected steed ; 
congratulated each other upon the treasure we should 
have in "Charley;" and by tea-time Theoph was quite 
cheerful. 

All the next day our household, Philly excepted, was in 
a fever of expectation ; and when six o'clock came (the 
time when Kelly and the horse were expected to make 
their appearance), the excitement was intense. Even Miss 
Kimso ran over to witness, as she said, the arrival of 

" The gallant young man on a spirited steed." 

The two little girls clapped their hands, and played about 
the lawn, in joyful anticipation ; and the cook, housemaid, 
and Ellen were constantly running in turn to the front 
gate, screaming, " There he comes ! No, it's a wagon, 
sure." " Faith, he's bringing two horses, mum. Oh, no, 
it's the stage that's comin' ! " At last Ellen cried out in 
a tone of unmistakable certainty, — 

" An' by the powers, mum, here he is ! Well, if iver 
I saw the like ! " 



DOBBS'S HORSE. 2/ 

Heralded by this announcement, Kelly (yclept " Pat " 
by his intimates) rode in state through the grand entrance, 
now officiously thrown open by Julie and the cook. The- 
ophilus, who had been trying to read Motley with dignified 
composure in the meagre shade of the pear-tree, threw 
down his book, and came forward. 

There we all stood, an eager group, every eye intent 
upon Charles and his rider. Kelly appreciated his oppor- 
tunity, and tried for once " to witch the world with noble 
horsemanship." Alas ! it was useless. Feeling that an 
apology was required, he exclaimed, after jerking angrily 
at the bridle without producing any visible effect, — 

"Ah, sir, divil a bit off uv a walk would he move for me 
the day ! The crayture's bones is a'most through the skin, 
sir." 

At the peroration of this startling address, he presented 
a side-view to the assembled spectators. The effect was 
electric. Theophilus looked tragic. Miss Kimso almost 
fainted, Ellen and Kitty giggled, and the cook clapped 
her hands on her knees, and laughed immoderately. 

" Faith, he's a jewel, sir," said Kelly, with a grin, slid- 
ing down from the animal's back, and gaining courage 
from the sounds around him. "Upon me sowl, sir, I'm 
thinkin' it's feedin' him on barrels they've bin, if seein' the 
staves betokens any thing." 

" Silence ! " commanded Theophilus. 

" Will I take him yonder to the stable, sir ? " asked 
Kelly, sobered in an instant. 

" Yes. Stay ! " said Theophilus, with some hesitation. 
" Are you sure you've made no mistake, that you've brought 
the right horse ? " 



28 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

" Faith, sir," answered Kelly, brightening, " it's meself 
axed that same, sir. But there wasn't, barrin' this one, 
another horris in it. Perraps the lether, sir, will tell yez 
about it," he continued, as, after tugging at his pocket for 
a minute or so, he succeeded in producing a crumpled 
note. 

"Yes, it's all right," said Theoph, after reading the 
missive, and handing it to me with a hopeless air. 

" Theoph, dear," I ventured soothingly, as soon as we 
were alone, " we may as well take it as a joke. It's the 
funniest thing that has ever happened to us : so why not 
kugh at it ? " 

" Humph ! " replied my spouse stiffly. " If you can see 
any fun in our keeping that snuff-colored skeleton for the 
rest of his days, you're very welcome. What in the world 
Dobbs was thinking of in saddling me with that lank, long- 
backed, high-hipped affair, I cannot conceive." 

"But he had not seen him for some time," I urged, 
knowing that the best way to get Theoph into a good 
humor was to take his Damon's part. " He told us the 
horse would probably be in bad condition, you know." 

" Yes, so he did. Let Dobbs alone for being fair and 
honest. Well, care and good feeding possibly may bring 
up the old nag, after all. He said he had been a splendid 
animal, didn't he .'' " 

" Certainly he did. Everybody knows what a difference 
a little flesh makes with a horse. When once we get him 
fattened up and well brushed, and all that sort of thing, 
he will be a different creature ; and, after all, it's a great 
comfort to know that he will be perfectly safe and trusty." 

" Now, Em," said Theoph appealingly, and working 



DOBBS'S HORSE. 29 

himself into a heat as lie proceeded, " why do you say 
that ? A poor horse is never trusty. I've told you so a 
dozen times ! I tell you, Em, I'd rather " — 

" O Papa ! " cried Julie, rushing into the sitting-room 
in great excitement, " our new horse's got 'most no tail at 
all, Kelly says, only 'bout a dozen hairs, and " — 

" Yes, yes, my dear, never mind what Kelly said ; go 
and wash your face, and don't scream so about the house." 

" But, Papa ! " — 

« Well ? " 

" One of the new horse's eyes opens just as wide as 
any thing, and the other's 'most shut. Isn't that the Blind 
Staggers ? " 

"There's a skeleton in every house," says some old 
croaker, I forget who ; and sometimes one can't help be- 
lieving that it is so. Our skeleton most emphatically was 
old Charley. Rubbing, brushing, combing, blanketing, 
feeding the creature, were of no avail : a skeleton he 
remained. To be sure, when compelled to use him, we 
managed to conceal his anatomy by means of an elaborate 
fly-net, adding a sort of double nightcap arrangement 
which went over his ears, and, with its dangling tassels, 
gave a slightly animated effect. This arranged, Kelly, by 
tightening the check-rein so as to raise the long neck to a 
slight angle with the back, and plying the whip indus- 
triously, strove to keep up appearances while conveying 
us to church or to the village. My lazy Theophilus was 
forced to walk to and from the station every day, for he 
couldn't and wouldn't drive the creature ; but Miss Kiniso 
and myself sometimes, on rare occasions, assumed that 
3* 



30 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

responsibility. That this was a mortification both to the 
flesh and to the spirit, I will not deny. But the baby 
needed mountain air ; and Kelly, who was coachman, foot- 
man, stable-boy, gardener, and wood-cutter, all in one, 
could not always make it convenient to accompany us. 

Numerous were the trials that assailed us on these occa- 
sions. Dear blundering Miss Kimso often wished that in 
some magic way we could substitute for him the famous 
winged horse Parnassus, or that, " like the pauper in the 
poem, he would at least — 

• Rattle his bones over the stones.' " 

Not he. In fact, the only moments in which the idea 
of motion could be associated with old Charley were those 
when, by suddenly standing stock-still in the middle of 
the road, he sent a dazed consciousness through you that 
he must have been moving an instant before. 

One beautiful breezy day, after purchasing supplies at 
the village store, Miss Kimso and I sprang gayly into our 
seats, sure of a pleasant drive homeward. 

" Come, Charley," said I, in my cheeriest, friendliest 
tone, as I caught up the reins. 

He evidently misunderstood me ; perhaps I should have 
said, " Go, Charley." But it was too late now. He did 
not stir. 

For a full half-hour we coaxed, commanded, wheedled, 
and exhorted that animal, in vain. 

Meantime ragged boys and idle men gathered about us. 

" Give him some pepper ! " shouted one. " Build a fire 
under him ! " screamed another ; and one and all, poking 
and pushing, shouted, " Get up!" and "Now for it!" until 



DOBBS'S HORSE. 3 1 

we were ready to cry from mortification. At last, by dint 
of hard pulling and urging, with three fresh men at his 
head and four stout fellows standing like pall-bearers at 
the wheels, we attained that soul of the universe, motion. 
After one ecstatic, moment of speed, we crawled off, fol- 
lowed by the cheers of the crowd. 

In simple justice, however, to the venerable Charles, it 
must be stated, that balking was not a frequent practice 
with him. As a general rule, he jogged along at a regu- 
lar gait, engrossed in brown study j and it was only when, 
apparently, the subject under consideration became too 
much for him, that he stopped short, in order to take it 
up deliberately in all its possible bearings. I really did 
not dare to tell Theophilus of this little peculiarity, lest 
my career as a whip should suddenly be ended by impe- 
rial command. With his high sense of honor, and the 
claims of friendship, I knew he would keep old Charley 
at any cost ; and the luxury of another horse was not to 
be thought of for an instant. Poor Theoph felt the de- 
privation keenly ; but he never hesitated when following, 
as he believed, the simple line of duty. He would be true 
to Dobbs, and Dobbs's horse, whatever might happen. 
Sometimes, from his high altitude, he would try to regard 
Charley as a real treasure, or, as his friend Sparrowgrass 
would say, " a most excellent thing to have in the coun- 
tiy ; " but this was carrying high-toned principle a little 
too far. 

One afternoon my husband came from town by an 
earlier train than usual. I should have been alarmed, 
had I not heard him whistling *' // Segreto " as he walked 
up the path. 



32 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

"Em!" he shouted, bustUng into the cottage, "want 
to go to town to-night ? I've taken seats at the Academy. 
They're going to have ' Lucrezia Borgia ' for the last time 
this season." 

" O Theoph ! " I cried in dismay. " How could you ? 
You know I cannot possibly leave the children." 

"Yes, you can, my dear. I have made arrangements 
for Aunt Ann to come up by the half-past five train on 
purpose." 

"Oh, thank you, Theoph! What a dear, thoughtful 
creature you are ! But " — And my heart sank at a 
thought which flashed upon me. 

" But what ? " asked Theoph impatiently. 

" My bonnet ! " I faltered. " I have no bonnet." 

" No bonnet ! Why, what in the world did you wear to 
the village yesterday ? " 

" Oh ! that was a distressed old thing. My best one 
was ruined on that day" — 

" J^/i^/day?" 

" Why, the day when Prince ran away with us. Don't 
you remember ? " 

Theoph did remember perfectly, of course ; but he 
wished to go to the opera, and so would not admit any 
thing in reference to the damaged head-gear. He flung 
the tickets upon the sitting-room table, and asked, with an 
injured air, what was to be done ? 

Suddenly his mood brightened. " I have it ! Wear 
one of those worsted things — what do you call them ? 
Riggle — riggle — something." 

" Rigolette I " I laughed. " Yes : so I can. My rigo- 
lette will answer admirably ; but — oh, dear — how can I 



DOBBS'S HORSE. 33 

wear it coming home to-morrow ? No lady would wear 
such a thing, travelling in the daytime," 

Theoph threw up his arms in desperation, 

" Well, if it's not easier to start a ship-of-war than a 
woman any time ! There are hats in New York, I pre- 
sume. You can buy one in the morning," 

Prudence forbade the suggestion that ladies were also 
not in the habit of shopping by daylight in rigolettes. 
Trusting that somebody at Aunt Ann's would lend me a 
bonnet for the purpose, I hastened from the room, in fine 
spirits, to make the necessary arrangements for our depar- 
ture. 

In an instant Theoph called out, in a tone of despair, — 

" Em, it's no use ! The next train doesn't stop at this 
station, and there is no other until nine o'clock," 

" Never mind," I called back, leaning over the baluster. 
"The 5.30 train stops at Orange." 

" But Orange is six miles off," groaned Theoph, 

" What if it is ? " I responded cheerily. " Old Charley 
can take us if we start in time," 

" Hurrah ! so he can ; and stop for Aunt Ann too at 
our depot on his return. Hurry, dear," 

Our turnout didn't look so very badly, after all, when 
Kelly, arrayed in his best clothes, drove around to the door. 
That fly-net was certainly a great institution. After kiss- 
ing the children a dozen times, and thanking Miss Kimso 
for her kind offer to remain with them until Aunt Ann's 
arrival, we sprang into the coupe, and directed Kelly to 
drive with all practicable speed to the Orange Depot. 

Charley seemed determined to do his best ; and Theoph, 
leaning back complacently, remarked, " If we keep on at 
this rate, we shall have time enough and to spare." 



34 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

Before we had proceeded half a mile, however, my un- 
fortunate spouse suddenly clapped his hands on his pock- 
ets, looked blank, and gasped, — 

" There ! I have left the tickets in the pocket of my 
other coat. Stop, Kelly ; we must go back for them : 
there's ample time." 

Kelly turned toward home ; and Charley, well pleased at 
the change, started off at quite a lively pace. More for 
the sake of saying something than for any other reason, I 
remarked that I thought I saw him throw them on the 
sitting-room table. Quick as a wink Theoph clapped his 
hands on his pockets again. 

" No — all right — I have them. I remember now pick- 
ing them up the last thing. — Turn around again, Kelly." 

Order easily given, and, one would suppose, easily 
obeyed. But, alas ! what can willing mind avail against 
obstinate matter? Kelly pulled the rein, "get up'd," 
shouted, and plied his whip — all to no purpose. He even 
stood up to give additional vigor to his strokes ; then 
jumped out, and took " the baste " insinuatingly by the 
head. Charley's determination was evident. Go forward 
he would : turn around again he would not. 

" Then, by the powers ! " exclaimed Kelly, seating him- 
self with new energy, and lashing his horse forward, " but 
I'll get ahead of ye yet, yer varmint ! " 

*' What are you going to do now ? " cried Theoph. 

" I'm going up a bit, sir, to the next turn there by the 
churrich. If I can just kape his attintion till we get onto 
the other road, it's all right wid yez yet." 

Theoph looked admiringly at Kelly, and whispered 
something to me about "native wit;" but I was too much 
discouraged to listen. 



DOBBS'S HORSE. 35 

The ruse succeeded. Charley turned down the next 
road during one of his fits of brown study, and was soon 
going once more, slowly but surely, toward the station. 

After proceeding a few miles farther, we saw our train, 
far in the distance, hissing its way along like some great 
reptile. 

" All right I " exclaimed Theoph. " We'll catch it yet, 
if this old bag of bones doesn't tumble down." 

Now, what decent, high-minded horse could be ex- 
pected to stand such a remark as this ? 

Charles stopped short. 

" Get up 1 " shouted Kelly, in a tone of alarm. 

The distant train became more distinct. 

" Get up, you baste ! " 

We could almost count the cars. 

"Ge-etup!" 

The smoke-pipe would soon be visible. 

*' Arrah ! be gar ! whill ye get up ? " 

Charles stood after the manner of a kitchen-bench, — 
legs all out at an angle of forty-five. 

" I'll tell ye what, sir," said Kelly, laying down the 
lines, " there's nothin' for yez but ter get out an' walk. 
It's not near a quarter-mile, sir, and ye'd be there in time. 
They wait a good bit takin' in water." 

Springing out with alacrity, — for I was not going to 
miss the opera after all this trouble, — I led the way reso- 
lutely, and Theoph followed. 

" This is what I call seeking pleasure under difficulties," 
he panted, gaining my side as I hurried on. 

"Yes, but it's worth it," said I: "we can rest in the 
cars." 



36 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

And so we might have rested in the cars, had not the 
locomotive, with a fiendish shriek, dashed out of the depot 
with the whole train, just as we were within twenty feet of 
the platform. 

Shall I enter into the details of that exciting six-mile 
walk homeward, or tell how we hastened in the hope that 
we still might find Charley in stain quo ; how we had the 
agony of seeing him, in the distance, finally yield to Kelly's 
labors ; how Theophilus called and shouted in vain, as the 
equipage rattled homeward hopelessly in advance of us ; 
how we still flew on, and trusted that Charley, who never 
ran so before nor since, would take a rest, and enable 
Kelly to hear our beseeching cry ; how, finally, we did over- 
take them just before we reached our own gate ; and how 
Aunt Ann came puffing up to the door quite indignant 
that no carriage had been sent to the station to meet her ? 
No. Rather let the reader fancy us sleeping sweetly and 
calmly that night after our unwonted exercise. 

Let him also imagine my emotions when, in the dead of 
night, I was wakened by a mysterious thumping, appar- 
ently within three inches of my head. 

I sprang to the floor. The window was open ; but 
it was too dark to see any thing. Presently the thump- 
ing was repeated, and I heard Kelly's voice outside call- 
ing,— 

" Are ye there, sir ? " 

" What is the matter ? " I asked, terror-stricken. 

"It's himself I'm wantin', mum. The horris is very 
bad. Would ye ask him to come till the stable, mum ? " 

" Theoph, Theoph ! " I cried, " wake up. Old Charley's 
sick." 



DOBBS'S HORSE. 37 

He gave a dismal moan at the name, but never stirred. 

" Theoph [shaking him vigorously], Theophilus ! old 
Charley's sick, — dying, perhaps : oh, do wake up ! What 
would Mr. Dobbs say, if " — 

*' Dobbs be hanged ! " muttered Theoph, glaring wildly 
at me. " There goes the train ! " and he tumbled back on 
his pillow like a forty-pounder. 

After rummaging frantically for the matches, I lit a 
candle. By this time Philly was awake, and screaming 
lustily. Theoph yielded to our combined efforts. 

" What is the matter ? " he asked, sitting up and rubbing 
his eyes. " Is the baby sick ? " 

" No. Kelly wants you to go to the stable. I'm afraid 
old Charley's dying." 

" You don't say so ! " exclaimed Theoph, leaping up 
with great alacrity. " If he is very bad, we'll probably 
want whiskey, or something of that kind, Em, and hot 
water ; perhaps four pails too, so that we can soak all of 
his feet at once," he added, chuckling. In fact, I never 
saw Theoph in better spirits, though he seemed resolved 
to do all he could to save the poor beast. 

Soon after Theoph went out, Kelly came to ask for the 
"dimmyjohn, mum." 

" Och ! but there's a hape in it ! " he exclaimed, shaking 
it as he walked out. 

Next, Theoph ran into the house for a long-necked 
bottle, with which to administer the whiskey. We had 
quite a long search before we found one, especially as the 
wind blew out our candle three times. At last we were 
successful. I put on a big shawl over my wrapper, and 
went with Theoph to hold the lantern. 

4 



38 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

We found Kelly in excellent spirits, and more talkative 
than was his wont amidst 

" The din and telltale glare of noon." 

Poor Charley took the whiskey quietly enough, though 
he had a kind of spasm afterward. His struggles were 
really frightful. 

" Rub his legs, Kelly," said Theoph. 

"Ah, begorra, sir," answered Kelly, obeying after a 
fashion, " I wouldn't be after throubbling meself about the 
crayture, sir. It's dyin' he is, anyhow. Arrah ! an' it'll 
be an aise till his bones to be under the sod. Divil a 
wooden overcoat he'll be wantin', at all ! " 

Soon wearying of this style of eloquence, I put the lan- 
tern upon the ground, and returned alone to the house. 
Theoph followed in a few moments. 

" Em," he called, " where can I find some wood ? I 
shall have to make a fire, and heat some water. Can't you 
wake Bridget or Kitty ? " 

Rather than call up the poor girls, who had gone to bed 
" worn out with their week's ironing," I assisted my com- 
fort-loving spouse through this mighty performance, and 
smiled to hear him whistling " // Segreto " as he thrust in 
stick after stick. 

" How is Charley now ? " I asked, as soon as the blaze 
was fairly started. 

"Pretty bad; may get over it, though. We've given 
him a stiff dose of whiskey ; and I told Kelly to rub his 
legs (the horse's legs, Mrs. Brown) until I returned." 

It seemed as if the water never would get hot. At last 



DOBBS'S HORSE. 39 

Theoph, by deliberately scalding his hand in it, satisfied 
himself that it would "do," and was about to start off with 
a pailful, when a shrill scream caused him to spill half of 
it upon the floor. 

*' Help ! Murder ! Thieves ! " screeched a voice from 
the sitting-room, 

" Oh ! " laughed Theoph, " it's Aunt Ann. Go quiet 
the poor soul, Em, while I call Kelly to take this pail." 

In vain " Kelly, Kelly ! " rang out on the midnight air. 
No individual of that name made his appearance. Theoph 
told me afterward, that when in desperation he carried the 
hot water to the barn himself, he found Kelly on his knees, 
hugging old Charley most affectionately. 

" Ah, my honey ! " whispered Kelly confidentially to 
Charles, " but we've had the fine time thegither. It's 
long since I've had a drop like that to warrum me. By 
Saint Pater! but whiskey's the stuff for a boy, anyhow!" 

" You've been at the whiskey, have you ? you scoun- 
drel ! " exclaimed Theoph, lifting the demijohn, and shak- 
ing it with unexpected facility. " Come, get up ! Do you 
hear ? " 

" Have I bin at the whiskey, yer honor ? " replied 
Kelly indignantly, as he raised his head from Charley's 
neck. " Och I is it dhrinkin' I would be, an' the poor 
baste a-dyin' ? " and Charley received another hug. 

Theophilus may have had great trials during the re- 
mainder of that night. I do not doubt it. But that was 
no reason why he should have been so fearfully cross all 
the next day. Kelly was a model of penitence, and prom- 
ised by all the saints on the calendar never to transgress 
again; " exceptin'," he added, "I'm left all alone twicet 



40 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

forninst a dimmyjohn wid the corrik out — and St. Patrick 
himself couldn't howld out agin' the like o' that." 

Charley did not die — not a bit of it. He was only, as 
his groom said, "a little overdid." In a few days he was 
quite himself again ; and, before the week was over, I was 
tempted to travel en voiture to the village once more. 

I am happy to say our steed quite redeemed him- 
self on the occasion. The only fright he gave me was in 
showing decided symptoms of lying down while Kelly was 
in the feed-store. To my great relief, a good-natured 
negro boy came to the rescue. 

After tugging a while at Charley's head, and giving him 
a moutMul of water, he volunteered a remark or two : — 

" Dat yere horse is weak. Miss Brown, he is — can't 
har'ly stan' up — dat's a fac, he can't — 'pears to me dey 
ort ter gib him more ter eat." 

This was a little too much. As I had no other audience, 
I ventured to inform the sable youth that the animal had 
always more food offered him than he would take. 

" Den he wants powders. Juss let dem gib him 'dition 
powders fur de ap'tite : dey'd fotch him up mighty 
quick." 

The result of this little dialogue was, that before long 
we purchased a package of Hadley's famous Condition 
Powders. Young Africa was right. Thqy did give Charley 
an appetite. He became ravenous as a wolf \ but not an 
ounce of fat appeared in consequence. As Kelly face- 
tiously remarked, it was " a race with him, whether to get 
higher in the bone or lower in the flesh." Even Bridget 
had her joke at his expense, and talked of borrowing him 
for a washboard. Theophilus grumbled, and declared that 



DOBBS'S HORSE. 4 1 

it cost more to feed him than it would to keep a span of 
ordinary liorses ; and finally I announced, that ride behind 
his miserable carcass, I never, never would again. 

Abandoning, therefore, all hope of using him for the 
present, his afflicted owner, paying well for the privilege, 
had him turned loose every day in an adjoining field. 
Theo^Dh even examined the fences himself, to be certain 
that they were all secure ; for he had just received a letter 
from his dear Dobbs, alluding to " old Charley " in affec- 
tionate terms. 

Here the creature's first exploit was to deliberately rush 
upon a broken rail, and injure himself so badly that we 
were obliged to send for a horse-doctor. Accordingly Kelly 
was despatched on foot to a small brick house in the vil- 
lage, proclaiming itself, by sundry signs, to be the abode 
of one Sanders, veterinary surgeon, and also of one Amos 
Dodd, who made and repaired gentlemen's clothing in the 
neatest possible style. 

It was mournful, after all, to see Kelly riding back with 
the " docther " in a muddy gig, and to watch them stand- 
ing near old Charley in solemn consultation. I felt as if 
there were a death in the family already. Dr. Sanders, 
however, bound up the injured leg, administered a pill of 
about the shape and size of the end of a potato-masher, 
and proclaimed his patient out of danger. 

But no : Charles keeled over during the afternoon, and 
lay upon the grass whizzing like a capsized locomotive. 
Theophilus used some inelegant expressions while gazing 
upon him, and sent for Dr. Sanders again. After that, 
the hot mashes that Kelly was forced to prepare in the 
kitchen (especially on baking-days), the calls for flannel, 



42 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

Castile soap, rags, and hot water, to say nothing of the 
"dimmyjohn,"- were enough to drive a woman wild. At 
last Charles grew better. His wounds began to heal. 
Kelly tethered him in the very centre of the field, and 
went about his work whistling, until one day, when that 
sorely-tried individual ran up to the house in high wrath. 

" Ah, Mr. Brown, sir, would ye come look at the horris ! 
— whatever it is is the matter wid his leg, bad luck to it ! 
It's bladin' worse ner ever, sir." 

Surely enough : Charles^ feeling something itching un- 
mercifully, and having no finger-nails, had used his teeth 
with effect. Dr. Sanders swore when he looked at him. 

"That 'ere horse needs knockin' on the head more'n 
any thing else," he observed. 

" I can't do that," answered Theoph bitterly : " he's the 
gift of a friend." 

" Friend be d ! " was the irreverent comment. " / 

wouldn't give such a creetur as that standing-room." 

To make a long story short, Charles repeated the biting 
process so often, that Dr. Sanders declared it wasn't any 
use for him to be running on this fool's-errand business 
any longer ; he couldn't do any good to the beast unless 
he had him down to his own place. 

Theophilus was only too glad to have the patient re- 
moved ; and Flowery Grove was accordingly relieved of his 
presence /r<? tejji. 

It was now late in August. Philly was getting on so 
well, all things considered, that our physician recom- 
mended us to remain out of town as long as practicable. 

Poor Theoph did so hate those long walks to and from 
the station ! Still, with mental reservations, we quite 



DOBBS'S HORSE. 43 

agreed with Miss Kimso that the country would be delight- 
ful when the melancholy days were come, 

" The brownest of the year." 

Meantime, letters came from Mr, Dobbs that filled the 
heart of Theophilus with delight. 

" Dobbs would be comfortable, rich, in less than two 
years," he said ; and he shouldn't be surprised, either, 
from certain indications, if the scamp had formed an attach- 
ment down there, or rather if he were hopelessly " smit- 
ten ; " for there had not been time for any thing deliberate. 
" It is strange, too," he added, " that he does not reply to a 
solitary point in any of my letters. Oh, the rascal is 
surely in love ! " 

The conclusion of Mr. Dobbs's last letter, received in 
the autumn splendor, left no room for doubt. 

" I shall start for New York by the next steamer," he wrote, " for a short 
stay only. California must be my home for some years to come. And, 
Brown, old boy, I shall not start alone. The loveliest, sweetest, dearest 
woman that God ever made will accompany me as my wife. We sailed out 
here in the same vessel, have known each other ever since, and — well, wait 
until you see her, that's all. Then, if you have any fault to find, fire away! 

"If you are still at 'Flowery Grove' (ha, ha!), and you can get a room 
for us at good Miss Kimso's, we shall be most happy to give you a week of 
our delightful company immediately after landing. By the way, old chap, why 
don't you write ? Not a line from you have I received. Ruggles & Co. have 
turned out prime. 

" Pat old Charley for me, and (beg her pardon for the juxtaposition, but 
love for that horse is my weak spot) present my warmest remembrances to 
your dear wife. She will love my Annie, I know. Adieu ! Pray for your 
Benedict. Yours, Dobbs." 

" He will be here in ten days ! " cried Theoph blissfully, 



44 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

as he folded the letter ; " and here comes Miss Kimso. 
Now we can speak about the room." 

Miss Kimso assented to the plan very cheerfully, though 
it was with great difficulty that we could prevail upon her 
to accept any remuneration. 

" What ! " she cried. " ' Is thy servant a dog, that she 
should do this thing t ' ' Take the wandering stranger in,' 
and then charge him so much a week ? Never ! " 

But it was satisfactorily arranged at last ; and, as we all 
sat chatting on the piazza, I could not help observing how 
really pretty Miss Kimso was at times, especially when a 
look of peculiar brightness came to her eye, and some 
sudden emotion sent color to her cheek. 

Theophilus was expatiating upon the virtues of his 
adorable Dobbs for our benefit, when Dr. Sanders, driving 
by in his dingy-looking gig, stopped to shout, — 

" Mr. Brown, you'd better send for that horse of yourn. 
He's just eating his head off where he is." 

" Eating his head off ! " shrieked Miss Kimso, ready to 
believe any thing of old Charley. I explained to her the 
meaning of the phrase, while Theoph called out, — 

" I'll send the man around this evening. And, Sanders, 
just let him have your bill at the same time, will you ? " 

" All right ! " shouted the horse-doctor, as he drove off, 
leaving a cloud of dust behind him. 

When Kelly brought old Charley home that evening, 
looking more bony and rickety than ever, and delivered the 
bill, I really was afraid Theophilus would say something 
wrong, he looked so desperate for an instant; but he 
evidently restrained himself, 

" Eating his head off ! " he exclaimed at last, after gaz- 



DOBBS'S HORSE. 45 

ing upon the startling bit of paper. " Better say eaten the 
whole of his wretched carcass again and again. I wish 
Dobbs's mother would come and take her own ! " 

Just then I heard Nelly crying ; and Miss Kimso, com- 
plaining of chilliness, bade me good evening, and ran 
home. 

All that night I was restless. Perhaps it was because 
old Charley, ill at ease after his long absence, neighed 
more drearily than usual. Perhaps it was the memory of 
Theoph's unwonted fit of temper. Certain it is, I could 
not sleep a wink. The room was insufferably warm, though 
it was autumn ; and two impish mosquitoes, the last of their 
race, tormented me to desperation. Finally, enveloped in 
a light shawl, I seated myself by the open window, and 
watched the fleckered moonlight as it lay trembling under 
our pear-tree. Sultry as was the air within, a light breeze 
was stirring out of doors, and the bright moon overhead 
seemed creeping slowly in and out among the clouds. 
Suddenly an unusually dismal neigh startled me, and look- 
ing toward the barn I saw something that made my very 
blood run cold. 

Old Charley was walking slowly from the stable, and he 
was not alone ! Gliding in advance, as though leading 
him by an invisible halter, was a tall white figure, point- 
ing with outstretched finger toward the west. The face 
was turned away j but, with a gasp of horror, I noticed that 
the hair falling over its shoulder was scant and gray. The 
words of Theophilus flashed upon me, — 

" I wish that Dobbs^s mother would come and take her 
own /" With a shriek I flew toward the bed. 

Theoph sprang up in an instant. 



46 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

" Emma, my darling, what is it ? " 

" The GHOST ! " I cried. " Dobbs's mother ! " and fell 
fainting to the floor. 

The entire household, as I aftenvard learned, was soon 
around me ; and, while the servants were shuddering over 
my incoherent exclamations, Theoph hastened to explore 
the premises. That I had seen so?nething^z.s evident ; but 
even Theophilus was not prepared for the phantom that 
stood with glittering eyes, to receive him as he opened the 
front door. In one skinny hand it held the halter that 
had been invisible to me, while over its shoulder the eye- 
balls of old Charley glared upon him with blank, remorse- 
less stare. 

Recovering his self-possession, Theoph seized the phan- 
tom by the arm. 

" Good heavens. Miss Kimso ! " he exclaimed, " what are 
you doing here ? Are you ill .■' " 

She awoke with a scream, and dropped the halter like 
one bewildered. As he led her back to her own house, he 
could see that something was wrong. She called him 
Albert, and clung, weeping, to his arm ; and when he told 
her he was not Albert, but her neighbor and friend, she 
broke into a rattling laugh, and tried to get away from him. 

She was better the next day, and in her own little room 
gave me the sad story of her life. I shall not repeat it 
here ; but I did not wonder, when with tearless eye she 
told me that she had conquered herself, and ceased to look 
forward to Albert's return, that sometimes her outraged 
nature had vent in temporary delirium. These attacks, 
according to the account given by her faithful servant, 
were growing less and less frequent every year. Indeed, 
the doctor had said she might outlive them entirely. 



BOBBS'S HORSE. 47 

The doctor was right : Miss Kimso began to grow 
stronger soon after the night of her somnambulic walk, 
when the moonlight silvered her floating brown hair, and 
transfigured her into an aged ghost. Black Phoebe helped 
us to account for the improvement, however, when one 
day she said confidentially, " It sartinly is won'ful strange 
now to think how Massa Albert is a comin' back, just his- 
self agin, as sorry and good as ever you see, an' ready to 
die for missus." 

His first letter reached her on the very day that Mr. 
Dobbs returned ; and the dear little woman was radiajit 
with happiness. A soft light beamed in her eyes, though 
the quotations came thick and fast as ever. 

As for Mr. Dobbs's wife, she was certainly a charming 
young person. We were friends from the very first. It 
was such a relief to see somebody else besides Theoi^hilus 
worshipping Mr. Dobbs ! 

Before they had been with us an hour, we were all, 
including Miss Kimso, clustered together near the porch, 
laughing and chatting like old friends. 

Suddenly the countenance of Theophilus assumed a 
sardonic grin. 

" Dobbs," said he, " I'm going to do something hand- 
some. From this hour old Charley is yours again. Ac- 
cept him as a wedding-gift to yourself and lovely young 
bride." 

Mr. Dobbs stammered forth his thanks, and declared 
he would be "right glad to see the noble old fellow 
again." 

" Let the noble old fellow be brought forth ! " com- 
manded Theoph in a tragic voice. 



48 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

Kelly soon appeared, dragging the wedding-gift after 
him by main force. 

Mr. Dobbs sprang to his feet. 

*' That's not old Charley ! " he cried, as soon as his 
emotions would allow him to articulate. " That's " — 
And the gentleman doubled himself up with laughter. 

"It is old Charley, though," returned Theoph posi- 
tively. 

" I tell you it is not," gasped Mr. Dobbs. "It's — oh, 
dear, I shall die ! — it's a horse that I sold long ago to 
Jim Fowler, over in Westchester County, for fifteen dol- 
lars ! " 

Theoph turned red, rushed into the house, and soon 
came out again with a crumpled sheet of paper. 

Mr. Dobbs seized it, and read aloud, — 

J. Fowler. 

Dear Sir, — Wishing to have my old horse again, I enclose forty dollars, 

which, I believe, covers every thing. Please deliver him to bearer, and {to 

prevent mistake) return this letter with your receipt by same hand. In haste, 

Yours, respectfully, Charles G. Dobbs. 

" That's straight enough, sir, isn't it ? " exclaimed 
Theoph triumphantly. " Kelly brought it back with him 
on that same day ; and here's the receipt. — Kelly ! " 
"Yez, sir." 

" Didn't you get this horse from Mr. Fowler ? " 

" Sure, sir, I did," began Kelly ; " and" — 

" Of course he did ! " interrupted Mr. Dobbs. " They're 

all named ' Fowler ' in that part of the country. But it was 

yo/m Fowler that had old Charley, not jfames. By the 

way," he continued, drawing a package from his vest-pocket, 



DOBBS'S HORSE. 49 

"I have brought some unopened letters with me. There 
were such stacks of them waiting for me when I landed, 
that I've not had time to read half. Let's see. Ah, here 
we are ! This looks like it." And he tore a yellow en- 
velope asunder. 

Mr. DoBBS. 

Respected Sir [this is it, sure enough], — as your remittances have not come 
to hand since last April, I take the liberty to send my little account for your 
horse's board ; which please to pay as soon as you can, as I have none too 
much on hand at present to settle my spring bills. Old Charley looks better 
now than any young horse in the place. He would fetch a price, if you 
could make up your mind to sell him. There's people asking me about him 
most every day. I've rented my house and stables, out and out, after this 
summer, but can get Charley in prime selling order in two weeks. Excuse 
me for asking, but I do wish I knew why you sent Jim Fowler, down the road, 
forty dollars for that old nag of his. It was twenty-five dollars more than he 
give you for him. 

Please settle the enclosed bill as soon as you can, and oblige 

Your obedient servant, John Fowler. 

By the time Mr. Dobbs ceased reading, Theophilus was 
quite prepared to appreciate the joke. In fact, we all 
laughed : Kelly roared ; and even old Charley (?), who 
stood near, threw up his head, and made a sound wonder- 
fully like ha! ha! 

Theophilus spoke first. 

"Dobbs," said he, "I have a proposition to make. 
There is an unpaid bill in this pocket, from the horse- 
doctor who has attended yonder steed through various 
slight ailments. You must have a pretty big one for your 
Charley's board. We both are ignorant of their amounts. 
What say you to a blind exchange ? Will you do it? " and 
he held out the folded bill at arm's-length. 

Mr. Dobbs glanced once more at John Fowler's " little 
S 



50 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

account." Then he put his hands into his pockets, and 
gave one long, penetrating look at " old Charley." 

Finally he looked up. "No, Brown," said he sol- 
emnly : " I couldn't do it. Upon my soul, I couldn't." 

After this, Charley drooped ; and what wonder ? His 
days were numbered ; though, as his groom assured us, he 
kept his " faculties " to the last. 

" Arrah, sir," Kelly would say, " it would do yer harrit 
good to see the crayture, wid his old ways on him as 
strong and fresh now : ye'd be astonished. Faith, it's 
balkin' he often is, a-shtandin' there in his shtall, wid never 
a sowl urgin' him, at all, at all. Ye can see by the looks of 
him that he's just tuk it int' his head not to shtir anudder 
shtep, though it's shtandin' shtill he's bin all the time. 
An' to see the bones of him ! Och, but it's comin' 
through his insides they are, since they cuddn't stick out 
no furder. Is it oats, or carrits ? Arrah ! the more ye 
fatten him, the thinner he gits. Bad luck to the day I 
fetched him ! " 

Poor old Charley! Even Mr. Dobbs soon stopped 
laughing at him. He did not die after the usual manner 
of horses, but slowly shrivelled away ; and, before we 
went to town, we laid him tenderly under our pear-tree. 



Philly and the Rest. 



HEOPHILUS and I had quite a discussion the 
other night, concerning our Philly. 

Philly is a good boy, and a healthy boy. He's 
straight as an arrow, and would know a hawk from a hern- 
shaw as quickly as any one, if those two birds were in the 
habit of flying daily before his dear little nose. But The- 
ophilus thinks that when a youngster gets to be six years 
old, and not only is unacquainted with his letters, but 
evinces a decided unwillingness to learn them, it is time 
for the parents to look at each other, and ask, " Is this 
our child a fool ? " 

Theoph generally is in the right ; but he certainly is 
unduly anxious about Philly. Any one would suppose, to 
hear him talk, that the dear child should by this time be 
able to recite half of Webster's Unabridged with his eyes 
shut — just as if he wouldn't be an unbearable little prig 
if he could ! For my part, I love him all the more for his 
dear, stupid little ways. He'll come out all right in time. 
It's delightful to hear him try to count, " one, three, Jive, 
two, seven " — bless his heart ! But Theophilus always 
looks grave and troubled at these attempts, and tries 

SI 



52 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS, 

to teach him the proper sequence. Philly listens for a 
moment ; but what can one do with him ? He has a 
way of wriggling under a lesson, that soon forces one to 
kiss his rosy, laughing little cheeks, and let him go. Ah ! 
you should have seen Theophilus just after the discussion 
I have alluded to. Half in fun, and half because I was 
provoked at him for his solemn way of taking Philly, I 
took up a book, and began to read aloud a life of the 
wonderful child Candiac : — 

" ' Candiac, John L. de Montcalm [I began impressively], a child of won- 
derfully precocious talents, was a brother of the Marquis de Montcalm who was 
killed at the battle of Quebec. He was bom in J 719; and at three years of 
age read French and Latin Huently.' " 

Theophilus sighed; but I proceeded without noticing 
it,— 

" ' When four years old he had mastered arithmetic ; and, before seven sum- 
mers had passed over his head, he had acquired Hebrew, Greek, heraldry, 
geography, and much of fabulous and sacred and profane history.' " 

Theoph almost groaned. I continued, — 

" ' His extraordinary acquirements were a theme of panegyric to many 
literary characters of that age.' " 

"Seven years," moaned Theoph, — "only one year older 
than our Philly ! ' Dear me ! what an astonishing child ! 
Go on, dear : what else did he do ? " 

" What else could he do," I rejoined severely, " but 
die? Here, read it for yourself. Born in 17 19, and died 
of hydrocephalus in 1726." 

" Oh ! " said Theoph. 

" Ah, here is another ! " I said, peering into the book ; 
"shall I read it?" 



P HILLY AND THE REST. 53 

" Certainly, my love." 

" ' The annals of precocity present no more remarkable instance than th« 
brief career of Christian Hcinecker, born at Liibeck, Feb. 6, 1721. At the 
age of ten months he could speak, repeating every word that was said to him ; 
when twelve months old, he knew by heart the principal events narrated in the 
Pentateuch ; in his second year he learned the greater part of the history of 
the Bible, both of the Old and New Testaments ; in his third year he could 
reply to most questions on universal history and geography, and in the same 
year he learned to speak Latin and French ; in his fourth year he employed 
himself in the study of religion and the history of the Church ; and he was 
able not only to repeat what he had read, but also to reason upon it, and ex- 
press his own judgment. The King of Denmark wishing to see this wonder- 
ful child, he was taken to Copenhagen, there examined before the court, and 
proclaimed a wonder.' " 

"Tremendous!" exclaimed Theoph, "but very unnatu- 
ral. Still I must say I would be glad to have a child 
like that." 

" Would you ? " I responded dryly, casting a glance of 
suppressed indignation toward the crib where dear little 
Philly lay asleep. " But I've not read it all yet." 

" Ah ! excuse me, love," 

"'This account of him by his teachers is confirmed by many respectable 
contemporary authorities. On his return home from Copenhagen he learned 
to write ; but his constitution being weak, he shortly after fell ill.' " 

" Ah ! got sick, did he ? I believe that is the way often 
with these extraordinary children. Probably he remained 
always sickly — but I beg pardon, go on." 

" No, Theoph," I answered, in a low but awful tone, 
" he did not remain ill at all. He died then and there, at 
the age of four years and four months." 

" Oh ! " said Theoph again. 

In a few moments he rose and crossed the room. I 
13* 



54 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

knew he was bending over Philly ; but I didn't look up 
from the book. 

" Come here, dear," he said at last. 

I obeyed. Well, it was strange. There lay our fair- 
browed little boy, rosy and dewy with sleep ; one adven- 
turous little bare foot was thrust out from beneath the soft 
blanket ; his left hand tightly held a slate-pencil ; the 
other, with chubby finger extended, was pointing to a slate 
that lay on the coverlet beside him ; and on this slate was 
a great big A, which Theoph had drawn upon it that after- 
noon, now criss-crossed all over with Philly's pencil-marks. 

"He really does appear to be pointing at it," I said, in 
rather an awed voice. 

" We'll take it for a sign," added Theoph quietly. " We 
wont trouble the little chap with books yet a while. 
Plenty of time for that sort of thing when he's older." 

Then he leaned over the crib, and laid his cheek close 
to Philly's ; and, as I thought it best not to make any 
remark, I went back to the table and took up my sewing. 

Now the two children, Candiac and Heinecker, were 
extreme instances of precocity, I admit. But we some- 
times need extreme instances to point a moral, and espe- 
cially in convincing a person like Theoph, who holds on to 
an opinion with all his might, forcing you to do the same ; 
and then, just as you are trusting your whole weight to the 
obstinacy of his argument, it snaps like an overtaxed rope, 
leaving you, as I may say, a prostrate victor. W^ien he 
gives in, he does it so completely that you've nothing to 
say, and must just sit in silence, letting your unuttered 
arguments seethe within you till you cool off. 

I might have reminded him of the wonderful boyhood 



PHILLY AND THE REST. 55 

of Pascal, who found mathematics in his porridge, and who 
was forced, in his infantile pursuit of geometiy, to call a 
circle a round, and a line a bar, because his wise father 
peremptorily withheld all book-knowledge of the subject 
from the precocious little one. Or I could have opened 
another biography, and read to him of Bossuet, "The 
Eagle of Meaux," as his eulogists have called him. This 
wonderful creature, when only eight years of age, preached 
with unction at the Hotel de Rambouillet. But, as we 
all know, he went on preaching, growing more and more 
able and eloquent as the years passed by, and died at 
last in a green old age. So his was not a citable case 
in my regard. It would have been much more to the 
point to dwell upon the dull boyhood of some of the 
world's most eminent men : of how Corneille was called a 
dunce by his schoolmaster ; of how Master Walter Scott 
was the blockhead of his class ; of how the poor, sickly 
schoolboy, Newton, was always in trouble on account of 
inattention ; and how impossible it was to make little 
Danny Webster speak his " piece " at school on declama- 
tion-days, — how that was the one thing he couldn't and 
wouldn't do, any more than Philly would learn his letters. 
But Theoph might then have turned about and renewed 
the defence. He might have quoted, as he often had 
before, the childhood of Galileo, of whom some old frump 
has said ecstatically, that, " while other little ones of his 
age were whipping their tops, he was scientifically con- 
sidering the cause of their motion." Ver)- likely he would 
have thrown Dr. Johnson and Lord Jeffrey at me, both of 
whom are said to have been profoundly wise, even in their 
petticoats. Then there was the great Frenchman, Gas- 



56 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

sendi, who was only four years of age when the study of 
astronomy began to engross him ; and Humphry Davy 
deUvering scientific lectures to his nursery chairs ; and 
Dr. Arnold, glad at the ripe age of three to be presented 
with Smollett's " History of England." 

No, it was better as it was. A relapse of the argument 
might prove more formidable than the original attack. 

Dear, good Theoph ! What differences of opinion could 
ever come seriously between him and me ? And yet, there 
is a great deal to be said on the subject of juvenile pre- 
cocity ; and, if he ever goes dangerously back to his old 
views about Philly, I shall have to say it. I'll tell him 
how direful a thing it nearly always is, this preternatural 
activity of the faculties. I'll read physiological essays to 
him ; and I'll ask him whether, if he were to go out into 
his Long Island orchard on some mild day in March, and 
find an apple-tree fairly bubbling over with rapid blos- 
soms, he would expect to find many apples on that tree 
when summer came. Of course he wouldn't. 

Perhaps it would be a more philosophical way to put it, 
if I said, " How would you like your trees to pop forth 
early in the spring with full-grown fruit ? Wouldn't you 
miss blossom-time ? and wouldn't apples probably be 
all gone before Christmas ? " 

Surely we should regard with reverence the blossom- 
time of life. If we force it into premature fruitage, we 
shall be disappointed in the end. And how much we lose, 
if, in a slow, beautiful blossoming, we find not the exceed- 
ing joy that childhood brings to itself and to us ! 

Dwelling on my simile to illustrate another serious 
phase of the subject, I might ask Theoph how he would 



P HILLY AND THE REST. 5/ 

like to have the beautiful floral wonders stripped from his 
trees as soon as they appeared, and hung in fantastic 
garlands all about the outer limits of each branch. Yet 
that is precisely what those mistaken souls do who turn 
the simple, beautiful ways of their children into drawing- 
room displays ; who catch at every bright little saying as 
soon as it leaves the infantile lips, and in the child's 
presence dangle it before admiring guests. Ah, the 
wrongs that are committed in this way, — the holy 
childish impulses that are sent back, despoiled, into the 
wondering, childish heart, there to wither to a little wisp 
of vanities ! The sweet music that springs forth uncon- 
sciously at first, but in time halts in discords, because it 
has learned to wait for the perverted maternal echo ! 

Mothers, fathers — all who drink in happiness through 
the love you bear to little children — revere the freshness 
of a young nature. Don't, let your weak, doting admi- 
ration, or your still weaker pride of possession, put the 
blight of self-consciousness upon it. I^ rather see a 
child of mine playing with the molasses-jug, just after I 
had dressed the little one in its Sunday clothes, than to 
hear it speak, "My name is Nerval," with the assu- 
rance of an infant prodigy. I'd almost rather it should 
have the measles as a chronic institution, than to see it 
ready at all times to display its repertoire of accomplish- 
ments before strangers. Luckily, little ones are not apt 
to fall into this latter accommodating habit. They rather 
protest with all their charming might against it, 

" Isn't it always so ? " exclaimed a mother in despairing 
tones the other day. " Can you ever get a child to show 
off when you wish it to ? " And there sat her obdurate 



S8 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

toddler, outwardly serene in its enjoyment of a candy 
bribe, which had stickied its little mouth and nose in a 
remarkable way, but all aflame with inward determination 
not to sing " Bobby Shaftoe." " It's too bad ! " cooed the 
mother : " you ought to hear him do it. He really has 
quite an ear for music, and his pronunciation is irresist- 
ible." 

Now, " pronunciation " and " irresistible " might not 
have been quite as comprehensible terms to that baby as 
to the youthful Candiac or to Master Heinecker ; but 
there was one thing he could understand, and that was the 
unguarded admiration of his mother ; not her appreciation 
and love, — these would have sunk into his child-soul like 
nourishing dews, — but the admiration, that, falling too 
often on a young nature, blights it, or forces it to a prema- 
ture and unnatural growth. 

Philly knows little songs, and long ago he could say, — 

" Who comes here ? A grenadier I " 

but we always have been very careful how and when we 
brought forward these accomplishments. He knows that 
he can please us immensely by an exercise of his dramatic 
and musical gifts. Before he grew so old and wise, he 
believed that he frightened us terribly, when, in saying that 
thrilling nursery lyric, he roared forth, "y^ granny-deer P^ 
but now he just knows that we enjoy his performances as 
he does ours ; and we always make a point of giving a fair 
exchange in such entertainments. 

To be sure, if Philly, instead of being the simple, every- 
day child that he is, had proved to be an infant Mozart, 
with God-given genius shining from his eyes, and twitching 



P HILLY AND THE REST. 59 

his restless little fingers, of course we should feel in duty 
bound to lift him to the piano-stool. We would do this 
reverently, I think, and with joyful wonder ; glad, too, that 
the progress of science and the arts had prepared for our 
dear boy something better than a clavichord. We might 
even encourage him to put his music upon paper, if his 
overflowing soul required that form of expression. Or, 
premising that we had seen marvellous cows, elephants, 
and dogs chalked on the nursery doors, or on Philly's one- 
eyed and tailless hobby-horse ; or if, when he was six 
years old, another Lady Kenyon had walked in, and our 
precious little one had in half an hour drawn an excellent 
portrait of her, after the manner of the six-year-old Thomas 
Lawrence, does any one suppose that the maternal grasp 
would have robbed our boy's right hand of its cunning ? 

But he's not a Mozart. He's not any thing in particular, 
though he's every thing to us. He simply represents " a 
large and growing class of the community," as the news- 
papers say; and so his case is worthy of consideration. 
He's the average child (ah ! how it hurts my motherly heart 
to write that ; for it doesn't believe a word of it, though I 
do) ; and, being the average child, we all may learn a lesson 
from him for the benefit of the present race of little ones. 

We can resolve, that, for him, all precocious development 
is hurtful : premature ability, premature politeness, prema- 
ture pleasures, premature goodness even, — Heaven shield 
him from them all ! Heaven shield him and every other 
child from aught that will stiffen them too soon into little 
men and women ! 

I know three little tots, five and six years old, who 
lately have returned from a visit to Europe. One of these, 



6o THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

under the modern hot-house plan of mental culture, has 
grown to be sicch an intelligent child, such a little lady ! 

I asked her the other day what she liked best of all she 
saw in Europe. 

"Oh! the art-galleries, of course," she replied demurely: 
" everybody likes those best." 

Poor child ! Remembering her, with what comfort I recall 
a recent morning spent with the two other little travellers. 

" So you have been to Europe," I said. " Now, Hal, 
tell me what place did you like best of all ? " 

" Don't know," said Hal : " guess I liked Munich best, 
'cause they had the most sojers there." 

" And I think I liked Venice," put in wee, bright-eyed 
May ; " because it was there that mamma bought me this 
sweet little doll " [taking it up caressingly]. " Her name's 
Katie. I must finish putting on her clothes : it's very late 
in the morning for dolly not to be all washed and dressed, 
I think. Ah ! " she continued plaintively, as she attempted 
to pin dolly's skirt, " this band is too big. Katie used to 
just fit it ; but she's real thin now, she's lost so much saw- 
dust ! " 

Happy little May ! Her days are fresh and simple and 
beautiful, because she is allowed to be a child. Whatever 
training is expended upon her is so loving and wise, that 
she grows naturally into all that can be rationally expected 
of a child of her age. Her goodness is the goodness of a 
warm-hearted, unperverted little girl, who loves the dear 
God already "for making father and mother and every 
thing," but who has no startling Sunday-school predilec- 
tions, suggestive of an early transplanting. Her politeness 
comes from no formal schooling, but is the simple out- 



P HILLY AND THE REST. 6 1 

growth of the "love one another" that comes of benig 
loved, — not of being doted upon, but of being loved as 
God intended she should be. 

May's pretty ways are in her presence never made the 
subject of admiring comment ; nor are her sweet, childish 
sayings echoed by the mountains of appreciation with which 
children among the comfortable classes are so apt to be 
surrounded. If she asks a question, it is thoughtfully 
answered ; and if she makes any of those sweet, childish 
blunders in speech or conduct that often are the charm 
of our homes, they either are apparently not noticed 
at all at the time, or they are gently and cheerfully cor- 
rected. But never are they met by that domestic dyke, in 
the form of a general laugh or an encouraging deception, 
which invariably sends them back upon the child in an 
overflow of pain or bewilderment. 

The fondest of us parents often are the most cruel to 
our children. This comes from selfishly regarding them 
as an especial personal gift to ourselves, something to 
delight and amuse us ; while at the same time we forget, 
that, if they are given to us, just as surely are we given to 
them. 

As a general rule, we are not half thoughtful or courte- 
ous enough in our manners toward our little ones. We 
are too apt to content ourselves with a general conscious- 
ness of being right in the main, with theoretically intend- 
ing that they shall grow up to be good Christian citizens, 
and an honor to ourselves. We make big sacrifices in 
their behalf, revolve fine schemes, and bring out the heavy 
artillery of our nature on very slight occasions. But our 
graces, our courtesies, our delicate acts of appreciation 



62 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

and lofty consideration are not for them. These are re- 
served for adult friends and select acquaintances, as if to 
any one living were due more of the best and sweetest 
that is in us than to those whom we have brought into the 
world, to meet its jars, temptations, and cruelties. 

Think of the really coarse way in which the best of 
us sometimes wound our children's sensibilities. How we 
parade their special traits and accomplishments, and 
ignore their individuality ; how recklessly we break in 
upon their little plans and pleasures ; how carelessly we 
comment upon their defects ; how we laugh at their child- 
ish distresses, because the grieved look or the tragic little 
scowl is " so cunning ; " how we visit our vexation of 
spirit upon their innocent heads ; how we resent their 
inexperience ; how needlessly or sharply we deny their 
little petitions, and how we ignore otir "Thank you," and 
insist upon theirs ; how we jerk or push them in our 
impatience ; how we flout their earnest questions, and deal 
out cutting, cruel words of "wholesome reproof," when 
perhaps the little heart is quivering under some real or 
fancied wrong ! It is terrible to think of ! 

Many, seeing these charges in the aggregate, will indig- 
nantly deny them. Yet what parent, answering each in 
turn, could plead guiltless to them all ? 

I shall not dwell upon the monstrous wrongs of chas- 
tisement too often inflicted upon children, — such as beat- 
ing, threatening, frightening, and that meanest act of all, 
the " boxing " of ears. The dear Christ teaches no hard 
lesson of harshness or brute force toward the little ones 
committed to our care. Even as he was "subject unto" 
his parents, returning meekly with them from Jerusalem 



P HILLY AND THE REST. 63 

while his child-soul yearned to be about his Father's busi- 
ness, so would he have our little ones subject unto us. 
They are ours to lead and protect, to teach and warn and 
cherish ; ours to love wisely, to deal with firmly and rever- 
ently, — mirrors of our example, gleaners of the harvest 
of our home-life, — not ours to humor and rebuff, and 
sacrifice to our hundred weaknesses. Well for the father 
and mother to whom their child's heart is as a holy of 
holies ; and their child's foibles and human tendencies as 
stumbling-blocks, not to vex and upset parents, but which 
the little one must wisely and lovingly be taught to over- 
come. Heaven bless the always cheerful, gentle-voiced, con- 
scientious parent ! And Heaven help all those, who, when 
it is too late to atone, remember with anguish the quivering 
lip and pleading look of a little face that has passed away ! 

Mothers, when in your hearts rises that first blessed 
thought, God has given to me a child, then and there say, 
" O child ! He has given me to thee. He has chosen me 
to be thy mother." 

Then, with His help, shall your little one be reared. No 
selfish fondness nor pride shall rob it of its just rights ; 
not a tithe shall be taken from its innocent, sweet baby- 
hood, from its growing infancy, its blithesome childhood. 
Sufficient unto each day shall be its daily progress. Van- 
ity shall not warp it, nor school-books crush, nor undue 
stimulus wrong it of its fair and just proportions. 

When you say, with the woman of old, "Lo, I have 
given a man unto the world," be guarded lest you cheat it, 
and Heaven too, by not allowing that man first to be, in 
the fullest sense, a little child. 



Our Aggy. 




DVISABLE, Mrs. Winthrop ! " I exclaimed, "ad- 
visable ! Why, it is a clear case of duty ! If no 
one else can be induced to take the poor girl, I 
will assume the responsibility myself, though I have three 
servants already." 

Mrs, Winthrop, a Bostonian, of " Mayflower " descent, 
who had only lately entered our New York set, and who 
was considerate and deferential accordingly, gave an ad- 
miring start, and suggested her fear that " The creature 
would drive me wild." 

" I have no such apprehension," was my lofty reply : 
"kindness and firmness must inevitably overcome the most 
refractory natures. Besides, the child may not be half as 
bad as Mrs. Grimmons imagines." 

Mrs. Winthrop inclined her head slightly toward her 
left shoulder, and, as if yielding to an irresistible internal 
flood of argument, ejaculated (for the twentieth time dur- 
ing our morning's conversation), " Yes-s ! ? " 

And here allow me to relieve myself concerning this in- 
explicable Boston " Yes." It cannot be written ; and I 
defy the most skilful printer, by means of any complica- 

64 



OUR AGGY. 65 

tion of italics, dashes, or notes of interrogation or excla- 
mation, to express it in all its fulness, its provokingness. 
It is yielding, defiant, coaxing, snubbing, conciliatory, and 
threatening, all in a breath. It is susceptible of every 
shade of meaning, of almost every slang reply that one 
can hear from the Atlantic to the Pacific. It says, " Just 
so," and "You can't come it over me!" "Go it, my 
hearty ! " and " A leetle tough ! " " What a whopper ! " 
and " Them's my sentiments ! " " Go it blind ! " " Aren't 
you stretching it ? " " Bully for you ! " " Hit 'em again ! " 
" No, yer don't ! " and " Sartain now ! " And all the time 
it is so Bostonianly elegant that one must wince under it 
with folded hands, and take its meaning as one best can. 

Mrs. Winthrop's " Yes-s ! ] " meant a great deal, and I 
knew it. 

In the first place, it meant, " You think so, do you ? " 
Second, " I hardly think you can succeed where the intel- 
lectual Mrs. Grimmons failed ; but who can tell ? " Third, 
" What a conceited woman you are if you only knew it ! " 
Fourth, " You are entirely wrong ; but you must find it 
out in the regular way." And Fifth, " Well, we're fortu- 
nate, at least, in getting the girl temporarily off our 
hands." 

Taking in all this with my usual acumen, I cut the mat- 
ter short with, — 

" You will please inform the ladies of my resolve, Mrs. 
Winthrop, as I cannot attend the sewing-meeting to-day. 
They may send the girl to me on Monday morning if she 
is not otherwise disposed of by that time." 

" I shall do so," rejoined my visitor, rising gracefully 
from the sofa. " And now, my dear friend, when may we 
hope to see you and your good husband at No. 69 ? " 



66 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

" Very soon, thank you," I answered, throwing aside my 
business air ; " on the first evening, in fact, when I can 
succeed in enticing Mr. Brown from his library chair. 
How is your little Everett, Mrs. Winthrop ? " 

" Oh ! nicely, thank you. He and Annie are attending 
school now. Do allow your little ones to visit them on 
Saturdays. Your Julie is so charming and well-behaved 
that I should really admire to have Annie become intimate 
with her." 

I assured Mrs. Winthrop, who, whatever may be her 
peculiarities, has certainly fine instincts where children are 
concerned, that I considered Julie quite too young to 
leave " mother " yet. 

" Yes-s ! .'' " returned Mrs. Winthrop musingly, adding, 
in a more sprightly tone, " but cannot ' mother ' come 
also ? " 

By this time the door was reached ; and, after many a 
pleasant smile and nod and half-heard sentence on both 
sides, we parted, the lady's elegant skirts sweeping down 
the stone steps, while I mounted slowly and thoughtfully 
to the nursery, feeling morally sure that " the creature " 
would make her appearance on Monday. 

Yes, morally sure. All the rest of that day I kept ask- 
ing myself, a la Bulwer, " What will I do with her ? " 
And next, the married woman's watchword, "What will 
He say ? " came forcibly to mind. Poor Theophilus ! my 
faultless, ease-loving, propriety-worshipping master of the 
house ! What would he sa}'', indeed ? I trembled to think 
of it. Why, even Ann McNamara, our peerless cook, had 
narrowly escaped being " dismissed " by him the day be- 
fore, just because she had served the ragout in an unsuita- 



OUR AGGY. 67 

ble dish ; and Bettys and Biddys innumerable had been 
banished from our domicile for the most petty offences 
against his fastidious taste. Probably we should not by 
this time have had a servant in the house, had I not, a 
few weeks before, " taken a stand " in rather a decided 
manner. Yes, the small-failings question had been 
then and there settled between us for all time. Thence- 
forth no girl who suited me should share the fate of my 
sainted highly respectable ones of the past. But could 
my new girl, my rara avis, take shelter under the statute ? 
I had seen her, and knew, or fancied I knew, what was 
before me. But Theophilus ! 

Well, the only way was to put a bold face on the matter. 
Accordingly, as the shades of evening approached, I sum- 
moned all my forces, and prepared to meet his lordship. 
Under the circumstances, his first salutation was not en- 
couraging. 

"Emma, dear, judging from appearances, one would 
suppose Mary's usual way of laying the door-mat was to 
fling it from the second-story window. I am afraid she 
never will be tidy enough to suit us." 

" I fear so too," I replied amiably ; for a bright idea 
had just struck me. " The fact is, Theophilus, it is im- 
possible to teach these * competent ' help any thing. What 
we really want is a raw girl." 

" A what ! Emma ? " exclaimed Theophilus, horror- 
stricken, as, after placing his boots with mathematical 
accuracy near the polished register, he stood with arrested 
slipper in each hand. 

" A raw girl ; one that is not hopelessly set in other 
people's ways, — that, — in short, — one that is, as you 



68 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

may say, — ignorant, but willing to learn," said I sweetly, 
giving his elegant "wrapper" a ^caressing shake as I 
handed it to him. 

" A Castle-Garden emigrant, for instance, newly-landed, 
or a blushing Huyter-spluyter fresh from the Vaterland ? " 
suggested Theophilus, with intense humor, as he softly 
slid himself into the gown, and assumed his waiting-for- 
dinner attitude before the fire. 

" No, no ! " I laughed nervously, " nothing of that sort ; 
but, ahem ! " — as if the idea had just flashed upon me — 
"what do you say, now, Theoph, to my trying a colored 
girl?" 

Theophilus either was speechless, or did not choose to 
reply ; and I proceeded, — 

" Not one of those deceitful, half-and-half yellow kind, 
that are neither one thing nor the other, but a genuine 
negress. They're generally such docile-tempered crea- 
tures, you know, Theoph ; and, nowadays, it really seems 
to be a Christian duty to " — 

" Christian fiddlestick ! " interrupted Theophilus pro- 
fanely. " Why, Emma, you're crazy ! " And my gentle- 
man significantly consulted his watch. 

Remembering at this critical moment the advice of the 
ancient philosopher concerning hungry men, I adjourned 
at once to the dining-room, and there held a session of 
great length and brilliancy, which, it is needless to add, 
resulted in the total subjugation of the refractory member. 
What I said, or what I did not say, can not be detailed 
here. Oh ! the arguments I was forced to drive into that 
man before he admitted what by this time had grown to 
positive conviction with me ; viz., that to have a real 



OUR AGGY. 69 

Southern negro in our house, all things considered, was 
one of the greatest blessings that could befall us. 

All this happened long ago, during war-times. I had 
learned this poor slave-girl's history at our last society- 
meeting. She and her father had escaped from Virginia 
into the Union lines. Theoretically a welcome had been 
shown them ; but practically the girl had, by her insubor- 
dination and impishness, proved too much for their hospi- 
tality, and a unanimous ticket-of-leave had soon been voted 
her. Two young soldiers coming Northward had, out of 
pity for the good old father, brought him and his child to 
New York, and presented them to our Ladies' Soldiers' 
Aid Society. 

The old man was soon disposed of ; but the girl, ah ! 
there was the rub. One by one impulsive members cour- 
ageously gave her a trial ; but at each weekly meeting the 
despairing mistresses would in turn restore her to the 
bosom of the Society, declaring that they could do nothing 
with her. No direct charges were made ; and all that one 
could gather from the exclamations and complaints usually 
vented on these occasions, was that the girl had proved to 
be "queer," "forlorn," "unmanageable," and "awful," — 
singular qualities, certainly, in one who had worked in the 
fields all her young life, who had never known a mother's 
care, and to whom all womanly and household duties Avere 
sealed mysteries. 

Meantime the strange creature would stand in a cor- 
ner of the fine parlor, rolling her great dark eyes about, 
glancing from the company to the ceiling, and from the 
ceiling to the floor, in quick flashes of white and black, 
her hands folded meekly before her, with now and then a 



70 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

restless movement of her feet that invariably caused the 
ladies near her to start in spite of themselves. Some- 
times, while looking the image of mute despair, she would 
suddenly clap her hands upon her knees, and burst into a 
sputtering laugh, only to appear more solemn than ever 
the next instant. 

She was about fifteen years of age, and the blackest 
of the black. Her dress was a scant blue calico skirt, 
reaching nearly to the ankles, over which a long crash bib 
was drawn without a fold from neck to knee. Each tem- 
ple was adorned with a few stiffly-plaited spikes emerging 
from the luxuriant wool ; and her feet were covered with 
good new shoes and stockings, very much against her 
will, as it subsequently proved. 

" Why not take the child myself ? " I had thought, while 
sitting near her corner at the last meeting, and fancying I 
could detect a promise in her face of something better than 
she had yet chosen to display to her Northern friends. 
But the scheme had soon been abandoned as impractica- 
ble, and probably never would have recurred to me had 
not Mrs. Winthrop, during her morning call, suggested, in 
her non-committal way, that it was " advisable " a home 
should be found for the poor creature. 

Theophilus, as I have already intimated, had been brought 
to that state of mind so often attained by the acquiescing 
Barkis. Still the work of preparation was not complete. 
Our last nurse had contrived to smuggle into the nursery 
a story of a " big black nigger," who thought nothing of 
gobbling down naughty boys and girls. Her hearers, 
strong in faith, had listened and believed ; and, ever since, 
negroes in general, and his sable cannibalship in particu- 



OUR AGGY. 71 

lar, had been the terror of their young lives. Of the chil 
dren, young Theophilus (though it may be unwomanly 
and quite out of my sphere for me to say so) was a greater 
coward than either of the girls. He was afraid of his own 
shadow. A dark room was fuller to him than Madame 
Tussaud's Chamber of Horrors. Once he locked himself 
in a pantry, and screamed till he fell almost into a convul- 
sion before it occurred to him to unlock the door and come 
out. These I mention merely as slight psychological 
peculiarities. Being our orily son, his father and I centred 
our fondest hopes in him. 

Well, what poor little Philly would do or say when my 
" contraband " should appear I couldn't imagine. Mean- 
time, however, I resolved to clarify his ideas somewhat on 
the negro question, and trust to fate for the result. As 
for Julie and Nelly, they soon became sound to the core 
on the subject ; but I dreaded to think of the effect of that 
woolly head and those great rolling eyes upon the baby. 
So much for upstairs. 

On Sunday morning I descended to the kitchen while 
Theophilus was preparing to shave. Ann was there in full 
glory. It was her Sunday out ; and her winter style set 
off her portly figure to advantage. The instant my foot 
crossed the door-sill I could not resist a secret recognition 
of her local supremacy. Nora soon came in with the 
coal-scuttle, and crinoline twice as extensive as my own ; 
while Ellen, conscious of her unimpeachability as first-class 
waitress, was washing dishes in the corner. Now was the 
time to strike the final blow. In a few feeling words I 
told my assembled audience the story of the poor " con- 
traband." They heard me in silence, preferring, as usual, 



72 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

to defer comment until they had the kitchen entirely to 
themselves. Finally I plunged into the catastrophe, and 
went on swimmingly, until arrested by Ann's indignant 
outburst, — 

" Och ! is it take the dirrity crayture yerself, yer mane, 
ma'am ? " 

" Certainly," I returned firmly, " if no one shelters her 
or teaches her to work, the poor girl must perish in the 
streets." 

" An' it's what I never did, ma'am, slape and ate wid 
nagers ; an' I'll not be afther beginnin' it now. So, if ye 
plaze, ma'am, ye'll be engagin' another cook agen me 
month's up." 

Nora said nothing; and Ellen, after swinging into the 
pantry with a tray full of china, came out with a lofty, — 

" I'd like to be lavin' with Ann, too, ma'am." 

Here was a fine dilemma ! But I was determined to 
carry out my project. 

" You need neither eat nor sleep with her : she can take 
her meals at a side-table, and use the small garret-room. 
The girl is coming to-morrow ; and I intend that she shall 
be treated kindly." 

With these words I strode majestically from the kitch- 
en, giving no token of the sinking at my heart : not even 
when I reached the dressing-room, except by shutting the 
door after me so violently that Theophilus, I regret to say, 
cut his chin. 

On Monday morning we were startled by the most 
terrific yells and screams that ever mortal parents heard. 
Theophilus rushed first ; I followed, quite sure that Mr. 



OUR AGGY. 73 

Norris's bull-dog had got in from the next yard, and was 
crunching every one of dear little Philly's bones. 

Arriving at the turn of the stairs, we saw at a glance 
that our boy was safe and sound, though screaming in an 
agony of terror. His little sisters were with him in the 
hall, both talking at once, trying to bring him to reason ; 
while Ann, Ellen, and Nora were on the spot, " speaking 
their minds " at concert pitch. 

Meanwhile the innocent cause of all this commotion 
stood near the hat-stand, with a half-doleful, half-mischiev- 
ous expression of countenance, her hands plucking nerv- 
ously at the fringe of her coarse shawl, and her whole 
aspect betokening either amusement or distress, it was 
impossible to decide which. 

" Mrs. Grimmons's boy left her here, ma'am. She 
wouldn't sit, nor go up stairs nor down," whispered Nora, 
hurrying toward me. " The child was frightened into fits, 
indeed he was, ma'am, at the very sight of her." 

Philly was soon high and safe in his father's arms, 
being lectured and hugged at the same time. Without 
replying to Nora, I nodded to the new-comer, saying 
with my usual dignity, as I led the way to the room at the 
end of the hall, " Step this way, please." 

On reaching the door, a suppressed giggle from the 
top of the kitchen-stair caused me to turn. The maiden by 
the hat-stand had not budged an inch. 

" Will you come this way, please ? " I repeated kindly, 
in a louder tone. 

No answer and no movement. The children, seeing fun 
ahead, fairly danced with delight. 

" Behave yourselves, children ! " I commanded. " There, 
7 



74 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

the baby is awake: run up, Nora! — Now, my girl," re 
suming my bland tone, " just come this way, will you ? " 

Was she marble, or, more properly speaking, ebony? 
Her immovability was scarcely human. 

At this juncture Theophilus, whose manner never 
seemed to me half so impressive as my own, caught her 
eye. He pointed to the room-door. The girl darted 
through the hall, and stood beside me in an instant, her 
lithe frame all in a quiver. 

" Don't be frightened, my child," I said gently, feeling 
really sorry for the poor creature : " no one here will harm 
you. What is your name ? " 

" NufiEin," she replied, with a sulky pout. 

" You certainly must have some name. What did the 
soldiers call you ? " 

" Nig." 

"What else?" 

" Nuffin' else, 'cept 'fractory an' debbil." 

" But your father, what does he call you ? " 

" What he call me ? He call me gal." 

" Nothing else ? " 

" Nuffin', 'cept when I'se sick er bin whipt : den he call 
me Aggy." 

"Aggy's your name, then. Was that your mother's 
name ? " 

" What say, missy ? " with a blank stare. 

" Was your mother's name Aggy ? " 

"'Spect not; 'spect I didn't hab no mudder. I'se 
gwine ; " and with these words Miss Aggy turned, and 
started resolutely for the door. 

Theophilus stepped nimbly in advance of her, locked it, 



OUR AGGY. 75 

and put the key into his pocket. From that moment he 
was her acknowledged master. 

The breakfast-bell rang. " Aggy," said I, not wishing 
to consign her yet to the tender mercies of the help, 
" come back and sit down." 

She obeyed. 

" Don't leave this room until I return." 

" No, missy." 

I gave one penetrating look at the girl, and saw that 
she was in earnest. Mustering the children (Philly was 
long ago safely perched upon the kitchen table), we 
descended to the basement. 

Theophilus behaved pretty well at breakfast, consider- 
ing ; merely hinting that I should have my hands full, and 
that firmness must be the order of the day, as if I didn't 
know that already. 

Suddenly he broke out with one of his speeches. 

*' I say, Em, as the secretary of your society was not 
present to take minutes, wouldn't it be well for me to draw 
up a report of this morning's pro " — 

The sentence was cut short by a tremendous crash, a 
heavy fall, and a noise as of breaking glass and timbers 
above stairs. 

" By Jove ! " cried Theophilus, " what's that ? " 

With my heart in my throat, to say nothing of the hot 
coffee, I flew up the stairs, followed by children, servants, 
and Theophilus bringing up the rear. When we reached 
the first landing, what a spectacle presented itself ! 

There, in the hall, lay a confused heap of rubbish, com- 
posed of what remained of our superb new hat-stand, 
splinters of rosewood, umbrellas, canes, cloaks, hats, 
Aggy, and any quantity of broken looking-glass. 



76 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

The furniture was precious ; but, of course, humanity 
ranked first. We pulled Aggy from the ruins. 

" What is the matter, child ? Are you killed ? " I asked, 
almost hoping that she was. 

" 'Spect I be, dat's a fac," replied the girl, glaring around 
her in a frightened way, but moving off nimbly enough as 
she spoke. 

" O Aggy, you naughty girl ! what were you doing ? 
How came you to break the hat-stand ? " I demanded, 
endeavoring to restrain my temper. 

" Donno ; 'spect I'us too hebby fur it," answered Aggy 
sullenly. " 'Tain't wurf nuffin'." 

By dint of super-woman exertions, I succeeded in get- 
ting the rubbish cleared away, and restoring order without 
becoming exasperated. Theophilus provoked me dread- 
fully, however, by saying he wished he could stay at home, 
and see the fun. 

Why attempt to detail the tortures of that first day ? It 
was over at last, with all its trials and aggravations, and 
my weary head pressed its uneasy pillow. Children and 
servants were asleep, Aggy was long ago stowed away in 
her little room, and in the quiet of the starry December 
night Theophilus and I held a consultation. 

His arguments were unanswerable ; his sarcasms scath- 
ing ; but I held my ground. A few mishaps at first, I 
urged, were to be expected. In a day or two the girl 
would improve — indeed, there was a slight change for the 
better already — Philly would become ashamed of his 
foolish terrors — it was a clear case of charity — and, in 
short, I wanted to give the girl a fair trial, because — be- 
cause — I wanted to. 



OUR AGGY. 77 

At last the energies of Theophilus, overcome either by 
sleepiness or the force of my reasoning, began to flag. He 
had even said, " Perhaps so, my dear ; " and after that, 
his repUes grew fainter, more wavering, and, like certain 
rare visits, very few and far between. Finally, after wait- 
ing nearly five minutes for a reply to a perfectly self-evident 
proposition, I heard something. 

Not from Theophilus : he had gone off on a dream- 
journey, like Christian, leaving his poor wife in the City of 
Wakefulness. It was a noise in the house ! 

Not a daytime noise ; but one of those stealthy, indefin- 
able, long-interval noises, that, coming in the darkness of 
the early morning hours, make one's blood creep and cur- 
dle ! Creak — creak — softer and softer — then dying 
away entirely. Pshaw : I thought, it's the back shutter ! 
No : shutters don't throw up a phosphorescent light ; and 
now, looking from my bed into the room where the chil- 
dren slept, I could plainly see a faint glimmer through the 
ventilator window. This ventilator, or " well," went through 
the centre of the house, from basement to roof. In a 
moment the light, though faint still, grew stronger, more 
definite. It was the gleam of a lighted candle from below, 
flashing an instant, then vanishing. 

" Theophilus ! " I cried, in a stage whisper : " wake 
up ! quick ! " 

He turned over like a sick buffalo. 

" O Theoph ! " bending nearer, and giving him a slight 
shake, " do get up ! there's a man in the house ! " 

" Ye-e-s," grunted my natural protector, " I know it ; go 
to sleep, dear." 

There's no use mincing thfe matter. I did get agitated : 
7* 



78 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

I poked him, shook him, jerked the pillow from under his 
head, and finally restored him to consciousness. 

As thoroughly alert now as myself, he sprang to the 
floor, and, after a few hasty tiptoe preparations, started for 
the basement, pistol in hand. 

I rushed frantically into the children's room, and sat on 
the foot of their bed, inwardly praying that the robber's 
blood might not be upon my poor husband's soul. 

Good heavens ! The stealthy steps were coming up the 
stairs, approaching my very door ! 

I flew, and locked it. 

" Em," said Theoph's voice outside, " if you want fun, 
come down." 

Decidedly relieved, I hastened into the hall. He 
motioned me to follow him silently. Arrived at the head 
of the kitchen-stairs, Theophilus crammed the corner of 
his dressing-gown into his mouth, and made signs for me 
to look. 

There on the lowest step, sat Aggy ; a lighted candle 
and the open cake-box were on the floor beside her, and 
on her lap was a half-eaten apple-pie, which she was 
rapidly demolishing. 

''^Aggyf" cried Theoph, in an awful voice. 

The pie fell from her lap, as, with a scream, she darted 
up, flew to the ^nd of the kitchen hall, and stood at bay, 
with her back against the door. 

" -^ggyj" said I, " what in the world possessed you to 
come down here like a thief, at this hour of the night, 
to take what did not belong to you ? " 

She crouched to the floor, looking up at us nervously. 
Something in the expression of our faces re-assured her. 



OUR AGGY. 79 

" Couldn't he'p it nohow, missy : I was 'mos' starved. 
Don' lick dis nigger dis time, missy." 

She had eaten three hearty meals that day, to my cer- 
tain knowledge ; but a chance glimpse into the dining- 
room pantry had proved too much for her. 

" I shall not whip you, Aggy," said I, " though you have 
done a very wrong act. Put the cake-box back into the 
pantry. 

She obeyed. 

" Now go to bed, and never attempt any thing of this 
kind again. Do you hear ? " 

" Yes, missy, I'se sorry for 'sturbin' you, missy, I jess 
is," answered Aggy, bending furtively to the floor, and 
clapping a big piece of the broken pie into her mouth ; 
"but I likes 'em dreffel," 

Obeying a sign from Theophilus, the damsel pre- 
ceded us in our ascent with perfect decorum, until half- 
way up the garret flight, when apparently seized with some 
droll idea concerning the night's adventure, she broke 
into a loud "Gorry ! " and doubling herself with laughter, 
bounded with something between a spring and a caper, 
up to her room. In a moment or two we heard her clear 
voice falling through the " startled air " in an exultant 
verse, each line ending with a jerk, as though the undress- 
ing process kept time with it : — 

" All de good people when dey die — 
Hally-lujee-riim 1 
Go to lib in de happy sky — 

Hally-lujee-rum ! " 

All things considered, it was astonishing how well our 



8o THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

charge comported herself for a day or two after this. ]My 
kindness-principle evidently worked well, and I was not 
without hope that Aggy might yet become a useful member 
of society. To be sure, she had some very troublesome 
peculiarities, such as shouting, in a loud but not unmusical 
voice, snatches of hymns and quaint negro songs, at all 
hours and under the most inopportune circumstances ; 
snaiDping her great white teeth at poor Philly whenever 
she caught him alone, thereby throwing the little darling 
almost into spasms ; and, when not watched, invariably 
going up stairs outside the balustrade, to the delight of the 
children, who risked their necks daily in humble imitation. 
Shoes and stockings were her especial detestation ; and in 
many a delightful barefoot hour did she elude my vigil- 
ance, sometimes going, like 

"... my son John, 
With one stocking off and one stocking on," 

in order to have a presentable foot ready for a surprise. 
On these occasions, meeting her suddenly in the halls, I, 
dupe that I was, contented myself with a glance, little sus- 
pecting that the fact of her hopping, or being perched upon 
one foot, meant any thing more than an every-day antic. 

Added to these eccentricities was an inconvenient habit, 
strangely out of keeping with her usual animation, of fall- 
ing asleep any time and any where. Keyholes and cracks 
of doors were a certain conquering power with her. Many 
a time we found the creature lying at full length upon the 
floor, her ear pressed to the carpet, and every nerve 
strained to catch the conversations going on in the room 
below; and more than once Theophilus, entering his li- 



OUR AGGY. 8l 

brary, found her curled up on the rug, match in hand, 
sound asleep before his unlighted fire. 

One of the most singular traits of the girl was her sud- 
den fits of temporary docility. Often, at these times, I 
would speak to her of her good old father, and of that 
higher Love which knows no difference of hue or tongue. 
She would listen attentively, and even kneel beside me, 
repeating word for word some simple prayer with true 
pathos in her tone, only to break away at last with a con- 
temptuous " Pooh ! what stuff ! Dis chile can't stan' sich 
truck, missy ! " Or she would suddenly change to a sit- 
ting posture on the floor, and with hands clasped about 
her knees, rock backward and forward, wagging her head 
between each chuckle, " Oh ! Lorry me, missy, you kill dis 
nig ; you do. Yah ! yah ! it's wuss den wucken, he ! he ! " 

But, as already stated, Aggy really did improve in many 
respects. She soon learned to scour the knives, build fires, 
and wash and scrub in a way that quite propitiated Ann 
and Nora ; though Ellen, my fine waitress, would not be 
appeased. " Nagers was what a dacent girl cuddent and 
wuddent putt up wid, nohow." She left, and I conceived 
the wild idea of trying Miss Aggy as her substitute. 

A few days' indefatigable drilling did wonders, and, I 
am proud to say, produced a profound impression upon 
Theophilus. To be sure, she generally ate half the sugar 
from the bowl while setting the supper-table ; and dishes 
of pickles grew strangely less on their way from pan- 
try to dining-room ; yet she was generally good-tem- 
pered, and, when "massa" was absent, very anxious to 
please. Why he should have had such an influence upon 
her is incomprehensible ; but there is no denying the fact, 



82 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

that a word or a look from him always either frightened 
her immoderately, or possessed her with the spirit of a 
hundred imps. Now and then, especially when we had 
friends to dinner, mischief reigned supreme. At such 
times interference or notice only made matters worse. 
The more important the guests, or the greater the solici- 
tude of jDOor TheojDh that no faux pas should occur, the 
more apt was her ladyship to wickedly fill the tumblers so 
full that they could not be lifted without accident ; or to 
slyly take possession of the knife and fork of some embar- 
rassed guest ; or even to burst into a shout of laughter, or 
cut an unexpected " pigeon-wing " in the fulness of her 
mood. I shall never forget the day that the Rev. Dr. 
Barrilpreech dined with us. Just in the middle of his 
impressive grace, Aggy burst into the room, singing at the 
top of her voice, — 

" I'se boun' fur de Ian' ob Canaan," 

and then apologized with, — 

" Gorry ! missy, what yer habbin' bressin' to-day fur ? 
Missy Grimmons use ter hab 'em reg'lar.^' 

After this Theophilus became unmanageable. I was 
constrained to hire another waitress, reserving Aggy for 
the "generally useful" department. Here her principal 
labors resolved themselves into eating, drinking, sleeping, 
and hiding between her mattresses every stray article in 
the house. Odd shoes, pieces of old suspenders, empty 
spools, bits of ribbon, tea-spoons, tooth-brushes, and even 
Theoph's cigars, all were stowed away with equal care and 
cunning. How they got there, Aggy never could "tink." 
"Mus' hab bin de cat or Philly ;" she "didn't know nuffin' 
at all about 'em." 



OUR AGGY. Zl 

One day Theophilus remarked rather pompously to a 
friend at dinner, that of all the books in his collection, he 
valued most a certain rare edition of Sir Thomas Browne. 
" You shall see it to-day, sir," he added, " as I know you 
will appreciate it." After dinner my beloved biblioma- 
niac attempted to fulfil his promise. The precious volume 
was gone ! Theophilus was in despair. He had been 
reading the book that very morning. At last, with an 
intuition quite equal to De Quincey's " electric aptitude 
for discovering analogies," I stole up to Aggy's room, and 
slyly disinterred Sir Thomas from his tomb between the 
mattresses. A moment afterward my unsuspecting The- 
ophilus was surprised at finding it in his chair, "just where 
he had left it." 

Still I repeat and insist that the girl steadily improved. 

A few weeks after Aggy's advent circumstances com- 
pelled me to commit a conventional sin, — in other words, 
to tell a polite lie, — by announcing, at one of the sewing- 
meetings of our society, that I would be pleased to see the 
ladies at our house on the following Wednesday. 

Now, I love freedom. I idolize soldiers. But, for all 
that, I do not like to hold a sewing-society meeting, with 
its scraps and threads, on our velvet carpets. Yet the 
thing had to be. Indeed, St. Grundy sent me a consola- 
tion by way of reward. It would certainly be a triumph to 
exhibit Aggy, in her advanced state, to the society. No 
other member had been able to keep her longer than a 
week. She should attend the door. I felt there could be 
no chance of accident in that, while, at the same time, the 
neat appearance and improved bearing of the girl would 
speak for themselves. 



84 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

Wednesday arrived. Concluding that discretion was the 
better part of valor, I did not betray my anxiety to the 
damsel, but simply directed her to remain in the hall, make 
no noise, and to admit the visitors respectfully. 

Every thing worked charmingly. As I stood at the end 
of the long rooms, engaged as " cutter," I could hear 
Aggy's pleasant voice saying, " In de frun' parlor, ladies ; " 
and now and then a cheery, " Yes, marm, I'se berry happy," 
in answer to some kind inquiry. She attended to her 
duties so promptly ! The ladies had not time to ring 
the bell before they were admitted, and so noiselessly too, 
by my little handmaiden. I was quite elated, and could 
not forbear indulging in a few remarks to those near me 
concerning Aggy's improvement, and the immense pains I 
had taken to make her a good servant. 

" Yes-s ! ? " said Mrs. Winthrop, replying in a rapid 
scale of C ; and I translated it, " You have indeed suc- 
ceeded, my dear Mrs. Brown. How in the world did you 
acquire such wisdom and energy ? " 

Our meeting over, the company departed almost in a 
body. As soon as the last lady left the house I called, in 
a cheerful voice, from the parlor, — 

" Come here, Aggy." 

Her sable face appeared at the door, grinning with satis- 
faction. 

" You have been a very good girl, Aggy, and shall have 
sponge-cake for your supper." 

" Tanky, missy," was the honest response ; " but, bress 
yer ! dis nigger didn' take no troubl'. I jess lef de do' 
stan'in open, an' hitched up on de hall table, dis way." 

She vanished. She was suiting the action to the word. 
With a sinking heart, I hurried into the hall. 



OUR A GOV. 85 

My young lady was indeed upon the table, swinging her 
naked feet therefrom in great glee, 

" Good gracious, child ! " I cried, seizing her by the 
shoulder, "where are your shoes and stockings ? " 

" Gorry ! " ejaculated Aggy, drawing up the offending 
members in a twinkling, and blinking her great eyes at me 
in terror. 

There lay the cast-off articles, in full view, midway be- 
tween the entrance and the parlor-door. 

" When did you take them off ? " I gasped, ready to cry 
with mortification, as the memory of my rather boastful 
words surged within me. 

" I tuck 'em ofE 'fore de ladies cum," whined the girl, 
" coz yer tole me ter be quiet : can' do nuffin' in dem yar 
shoes." 

" Aggy," I asked, in a tragic voice, " did you swing your 
feet in that outrageous manner while the ladies were in the 
hall ? " 

" Donno, missy," sobbed Aggy, scratching her head ; 
"mose like I did, coz dey allers swings nat'ral when I 
sits on any thin' high." 

Just then Theophilus came in, and, rather than put him 
in possession of the facts, I hastily gathered up the girl's 
impedimenta, and allowed her to depart for the kitchen with- 
out further comment. But it was trying, to say the least of 
it, to hear her singing obliviously, as she bounded down the 
stairs, — 

" Oh ! I'se goin' to be an angel — 
I'se goin' to be an angel, 
An' lib in de big blue sky." 

In the evening Aggy's father came in. He was a noble- 



86 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

looking negro, though evidently worn by toil and suffering. 
His " Well, gal ! " and the twinkle in his bright eye as 
Aggy entered the room, told their own story of love and 
long forbearance. For his sake my resolve to return her 
to the society was abandoned at once. I shall never for- 
get the glow of honest pride with which he forced upon 
me a small sum of money, — his first savings as a free 
man, — " to buy de chile some close." 

" Ef it's de same to you, marm," was his dignified reply 
to my remonstrance, " I'd ruther de gal ud hab it. She 
hain't had no mudder since she woz a nussin' chile, an' ole 
Cudjoe's nebber had no chance to hev the 'sponsibility uv 
her afore. May de Lor' bress you, marm, an' de gem'man 
too, fur shelterin' uv her an' larnin' her." He looked at 
Aggy a moment, and continued, " An' oh ! missus, ef yer 
could, ef yer only could, wid de Lord's he'p, make her a 
Christian, it ud" — He stopped, and burst into tears. 

" We will try," I said, grasping the old man's hand ; 
" and you, Aggy, I know, will endeavor to be a good girl 
for your father's sake." 

" Can't, missy," sobbed Aggy, with sudden vehemence, 
as she plunged her woolly head in the old man's bosom, 
" 'tain't no use — I'se 'fractory — sojers sed so — I'se got 
de debbil in me ! " 

At this point Theophilus walked into the room with the 
baby in his arms. Aggy sprang up in an instant. 

" Dar, missy, dat's it ! She ain't a bit afeard uv niggers 
— she's liked Aggy frum de furst, 'cept Nora sed yer'd es 
leaf hev a monkey han'le her es me. Ef yer'd on'y let 
me hole an' ten' de baby, I cud be a Chrisshen — I tink I 
cud — dat's a fac." 



OUR AGGY. 87 

And with these words, after wiphig her eyes upon her 
apron, she commenced dancing frantically before the baby, 
stopping occasionally to let the soft dimpled hands clutch 
at her wool while the little one crowed and screamed with 
delight. 

Half tempted to consent, and yet dreading a positive 
fiat from Theophilus, who idolized the baby, I turned the 
subject, and was glad when the door-bell summoned Aggy 
from the room. 

After old Cudjoe left, Theophilus and I held another 
consultation. He was inexorable. 

"What ! " he cried, "let that crazy imp take care of the 
baby .'' never ! Isn't it enough to have the furniture, win- 
dows, and crockery broken ; to find the children's ' hoop- 
les ' hung across my best beaver ; to be made ridiculous 
before my friends ; and to have my youngsters all talking 
and laughing like darkeys, without having poor little 
Pinky's brains dashed out into the bargain ! I tell you, 
Emma, this notion of yours is Quixotic, absurd, positively 
criminal under the circumstances ! " 

Now, when Theophilus forgets himself in this manner, I 
simply blush for him, and quietly resolve to follow my own 
calmer judgment. Consequently, Aggy was duly installed 
the next day as under-nurse, and did so well, that before 
the first week elapsed even Theophilus admitted that mat- 
ters were not so very discouraging after all. 

One bright, icy afternoon — shall I ever forget it? — 
while little Philly, at the prospect of a bath, was suffering 
under a severe attack of Psychrophobia, the baby, held in 
Aggy's now careful arms, was gazing through the window 
panes. Suddenly, like Rasselas, she was seized witli an 



88 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

ardent desire to visit the outer world, and, of course, soon 
set up a vigorous " dey-dey ! dey-dey ! " which, being in- 
terpreted, means, " I want somebody to put on my street 
fixings, and take me out — quick ! quick ! " 

"Z>^ lef me take her, missy, jes in frun' ob de house ; 
please do, missy," pleaded Aggy, pressing the baby to her 
heart in eager anticipation. " I keep her wrap up jess es 
warm es I kin, an' I promis," she continued, rolling her 
great eyes solemnly till they showed more white than black, 
" I proi7iis I wunt go no furder dan de house." 

"Very well," said I, " I'll trust you, Aggy. Look up at 
the window every few moments, and I'll wave my hand 
when I wish you to come in." 

We wrapped the little darling up warmly, and I couldn't 
help congratulating myself on my recognition of Aggy's 
true sphere, when I saw how tenderly and cautiously she 
descended the stairs with her precious burden. 

In a moment I raised the window, and saw Aggy walk- 
ing demurely up and down in front of the house, her head 
bobbing like a mandarin's in dutiful watchfulness of my 
signal. I could not resist the temptation to run down to 
the front parlor, where Theophilus, in dressing-gown and 
slippers, sat reading the paper, to show him how glorious- 
ly my system worked. He looked up as I entered. 

"Theoph, dear, do come and see how carefully Aggy 
carries the baby," said I, raising the sash lightly. 

Aggy was singing in a subdued voice, as she paced 
slowly up and down, — 

" Massa gone, missy too, 
Cry ! niggers, cry ! 
Tink I'll see de bressed Norf 
'Fore the day 1 die." 



OUR AGGY. 89 

All would have been well, if Theophilus had only kept 
quiet ; but the man was possessed. He dashed the 
blinds open with a bang, and called out sternly, — 

" Be careful, girl ! The sidewalks are slippery. Mind 
you don't go a single step past the house ! " 

This was enough. Aggy raised her eyes to his face, 
and we saw in a flash that her impish spirit was aroused. 
Off she started. Theophilus, without taking time to get 
coat or hat, rushed to the door, and reached the side- 
walk just in time to see her dart around the corner. He 
hurried on, but only to catch the gleam of the baby's 
white cloak, as it disappeared at the next turn. Another, 
and yet another corner was gained with no better success. 
People stared to see a hatless man rushing along at such 
a rate. Crowds gathered, and every idler in the street 
joined in the chase, but to no avail. The girl had wings 
to her feet. Theophilus shuddered, lest in her excitement 
she should dash the baby to the ground ; but he dared not 
slacken his pace, because to lose sight of her, he felt, 
was to lose his child forever. Shouts filled the air : cries 
of " Stop, thief ! " — " Run, sis ! " — " Shake your pins 
nimbler, old fellow ! " — " Hurrah for the gal ! " resounded 
on every side. Meanwhile the rabble, Theophilus in 
their midst, pressed on faster and faster. More than once 
the fugitive ran almost under the heads of passing horses, 
causing them to leap and prance ; but she never once 
faltered or staggered. On she ran, until, turning her 
head, she saw that her pursuers were gaining upon her. 
Halting an instant, she laid the baby on a pile of mats 
in front of a grocer)', and flew around the corner. 

No one followed j for all stopped to see whether what 
8* 



90 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

she had cast away was a bundle or a living thing. Not 
a sound escaped it ; and only when its panting father 
clasped it to his bosom, did the poor frightened birdie 
utter a cry. Theophilus told me afterward that that cry 
was the sweetest sound he had ever heard in his life ; which 
struck me as rather a queer idea, though I said nothing. 

Poor Theophilus ! His position, considering his tem- 
perament, was certainly not an enviable one. Standing 
in slippers, bareheaded, with a screaming baby in his 
arms, nearly a mile from home, and in a part of the city 
where not a hack, not a hat-store, was to be seen, sur- 
rounded by a gaping crowd, who deluged him with ques- 
tions, and incensed him with their jokes, he was indeed 
to be pitied ! Matters were not much ameliorated either 
by the appearance of a policeman, who coming late to the 
rescue, as usual, insisted in stentorian tones upon knowing 
"what all this meant." 

Humbled and grateful, I clasped the baby in my arms 
that evening, scarcely daring to look at Theophilus. 

We might never have heard of Aggy again, had not our 
little one been carried to Madison Park, months after, by 
its new nurse. 

When they returned, I could hear baby chattering in 
pure Choctaw all the way up stairs. 

" Why, darling, what is it ? " I asked, meeting her at the 
door, and almost smothering her with kisses. " What did 
baby see in the park } " 

" Goo goo, Ag, goo goo, Ag, zoo whoo ! " 

" Bless her heart, ma'am," cried nurse, " I declare if she 
don't almost tell you." 



OUR AGGY. 91 

" Tell me what, Betsey ? " 

" Why, do you believe, ma'am, when me and baby was 
a-going in the park, what should come bouncing up to us 
but an ugly little nigger ? " 

" Ag ! Goo-ug, gug ! " explained the baby. 

" Yes, you pet : goo goo. So it was," continued Betsey, 
taking off its " things," and putting all the pins into her 
mouth : " it was a nassy black thing, it was." 

" Well, what about the colored girl ? " I asked, becom- 
ing impatient. " Was it Aggy ? " 

" Yes, ma'am, that very young un you've been tellin' 
me of. Well, if she didn't laugh and cry and dance, and 
clap her hands, till I thought she'd go into fits. Then she 
whisked the baby out of my arms in a jiffy, and most 
strangled it with kisses ; and, do you believe, ma'am, the 
more I tried to pull baby away the more it wouldn't come, 
but just held on to the dirty black neck, and hollered. 
At last, when I got baby safe in my arms again, and it 
a-screaming to go back to her, I jest up an' told the 
sassy thing to go about her business. 

" 'Well,' says she, ' I'se gwine ' (these niggers talks like 
heathen). 'Tell missy Aggy lub her fus-rate, on'y I'se 
got anudder missy now ; " and ran off, after kissin' baby 
again, and laughin' and cryin' like wild." 

Betsey paused from sheer exhaustion ; for during the 
narrative she had been tossing her charge up and down, 
shaking her head, and making herself interesting to it 
generally. 

" Ran off ? Didn't you call her ? Couldn't you stop 
her ? " 

" Bless you, ma'am ! There ain't a person living could 



92 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

'a' stopped her. Why, she run faster than the very wind, 
ma'am. I misgive me she's kind o' wild, savin' your pres- 
ence ; or maybe she's afraid the master'd have her took 
up, — as most any gentleman would after such work. 
P'r'aps " — 

" But didn't she say she would come and see the baby ? 
Didn't she tell you where she is living ? " 

" Not a word, ma'am," persisted Betsey solemnly, shak- 
ing her head. " She just run and run, as if the very ter- 
rors was after her." 

That was the end of it. Aggy, who is no creature of 
fancy, but a real, living girl, never again ventured near 
the spot that held Theophilus. She was gone, and with 
her my philanthropic scheme, but not my faith in her race, 
my hope for their future. 

Often in the quiet spring afternoons, while sitting in 
the nursery, that lithe figure seems before me again ; and 
I almost hear her quaint snatches of song ringing through 
the house. When baby shouts with keener delight than 
usual, the clatter of those wild dances once more rings in 
my ears ; and often in the dim twilight, the old father's 
words come back : " Ef yer could, ef yer only could, wid 
de Lord's he'p, make her a Christian ! " 



INSANITY OF CAIN. 



Insanity of Cain. 




HATEVER is startling in the fact of questioning 
Cain's sanity only goes to prove the simple jus- 
tice of the doubt. For more than five thousand 
years humankind has been content to look upon the First 
Born as a murderer. Each new generation, convicting 
him as it were without hearing of judge or jury, has felt 
far more concern that the conviction should be under- 
stood as a so-called religious fact, than that a remote and 
defenceless fellow-creature should have the benefit of 
human justice. One-tenth of the zeal and candor with 
which our own Froude has endeavored to make a saint of 
England's chronic widower might have sufficed to lift a 
world's weight of obloquy from the shoulders of Cain. 
But, until to-day, no philosopher has chosen to assume 
the difficult and delicate task. No jurisprudent has 
dared to investigate a charge that has been a sort of 
moral stronghold for ages. So grand a thing is it to be 
able to point away far back, deeper and deeper, into antiq- 
uity, to the very First Families, and say, Behold the foun- 
tain-head of our murder-record. 

Doggerel has much to answer for. It has driven many 

95 



96 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

a monstrous wrong into the heart of its century. It has 
done its worst with Cain, but not the worst. 

C is for Cain, 

Who his brother had slain, 

though winning in cadence, lacks spirit as a charge. It is 
too non-committal. The feeble soul that contrived it was 
fit only for jury-duty. It wants the snap of preconceived 
opinion. But Cain, the First Murderer, is grand, 
unique, statistical. Hence its vitality and power. Gene- 
ration after generation, taught to loathe his very name, has 
accepted the statement on general principles. There had 
to be a first murderer ; and why not Cain ? Again, why 
not Abel for the murderee ? 

There was no miasma in that sweet, fresh time ; no 
scope for contagious diseases. There were no pastry- 
shops, no distilleries, no patent medicines, no blisters, no 
lancets, and no doctors. Consequently, there was no way 
for a man to die unless somebody killed him. Cain did 
this thing for Abel. That we do not dispute ; nor that he 
did it gratis and unsolicited. But was he a murderer?. 
Setting aside the possibility that Abel's time had not 
come, are we to judge Cain by the face of his deed? 
May there not have been palliating conditions, tempera- 
mental causes ? In a word, was he sane ? 

For centuries, ages, the world has overlooked the tre- 
mendous considerations involved in this question, placidly 
branding an imfortunate man with deepest ignominy, 
and taking it for granted that his deed was deliberate, — 
the act of a self-poised, calculating, and guilty mind. Let 
us see. 



INSANITY OF CAIN. 97 

In the first place, Cain, for a time, was the only child 
on earth. That in itself was enough to disturb the strong- 
est juvenile organism. All the petting, nursing, trotting, 
coddling, and watching of the whole civilized world fall- 
ing upon one pair of baby shoulders ! Naturally the 
little fellow soon considered himself a person of conse- 
quence, — all-absorbing consequence, in fact. Then came 
Abel, disturbing and upsetting his dearest convictions. 
Another self ! A new somebody ! A kicking counterfeit, 
held fondly in Jiis mother's arms, riding to Banbury Cross 
on his father's foot ! 

A Brother ? What did it mean ? There were no books 
to tell him ; and if there had been, the poor child never 
knew a letter. There were no philosophers nor metaphysi- 
cians in those days to explain the phenomenon. The 
earliest Beecher was not born ; Darwin was still a linger- 
ing atom in some undreamed of, unorganized pseudo-pro- 
toplasm of a monkey. The child had no friends, not even 
a school-fellow. Adam's time was taken up with what 
modern conundrumists have called his express company ; 
Eve had the baby to mind, and Cain was left alone to 
brood over the unfathomable. Think of the influence thus 
brought to bear upon the delicate, sensitive brain of that 
very select child. A mature intellect would have given 
way under a far less strain. 

But Cain survived it. He became reconciled, we will 
say, to the little Abel. They played and shouted together 
as children do in our day, racing the fields at will, growing 
to be strong, brave little animals, fierce, impulsive, and 
aggressive — especially Cain. But how did they fare 
aesthetically — no academies, no Sunday-schools, no g5'm- 
9 



98 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

nasiums, nothing to direct and balance their young 
minds ! 

Their parents were plain people, caring little for society, 
we imagine, and any thing but dressy in their tastes. 
There were no lectures in those days, remember ; no con- 
certs, no Young Men's Christian Associations, to make life 
one long festivity — every thing was at a dead level. 
Probably the only excitements Adam and Eve had were 
thrashing the children and making them "behave." What- 
ever sensation Adam may have made among the beasts of 
the field, the only public movement possible to his active- 
minded wife was to notify all mankind (i.e., little Cain and 
Abel) to look out, for Adam was coming! Naturally, 
Abel, being the baby, the last and therefore the best and 
dearest, was spared these thrashings and public excite- 
ments to a great extent ; and so the burden of social re- 
sponsibility fell upon poor little Cain. Who shall blame 
him, or wonder at the act, if now and then he indulged in 
a sly kick at Abel, — Abel, the goody boy of the family, 
the "rest of the world," who would not on any account be 
as naughty and noisy as brother Cain ? 

Yet who of us can say that any such kick was admin- 
istered ? At that early stage of his existence, the controll- 
ing mind of Cain had not yet given way. 

It is no light matter to be the first man in a world like 
this ; and Cain certainly was preparing to hold that posi- 
tion. Adam, his father, was created for a purpose. Like 
Minerva, he sprang into life full grown ; therefore, though 
we may safely consider him as the first human creature, 
he certainly was not the first man. For how can one be 
a man who never was a child ? 



INSANITY OF CAIN. 99 

Here we have another argument in favor of Cain. Be- 
sides having no bad boys to pattern after, he was under 
the constant direction of his parents, who certainly, if 
only from an instinct of self-preservation, would have 
trained him never to be passionate or cruel, when in his 
right mind. To be sure, they labored under a peculiar 
disadvantage. Herbert Spencer himself, coming into the 
world booted and spurred, with no childhood to look back 
upon, might have been at a loss how to manage the first 
boy. We must never forget that there was a time when 
instinct and reflex action had the start of the doctrine of 
precedent and law of consequences; when the original "I 
told you so ! " had yet to be uttered. Even the warning 
example of Cain was denied to the moral advancing of 
this first boy. 

Still the situation had its advantages. There were no 
fond uncles and aunts, no doting grand-parents, to spoil 
the child, and confound the best endeavors of Adam and 
Eve. Fortunately for the boy. Poor Richard's Almanac 
was yet unwritten ; George Washington's little hatchet 
was never brandished before his infant mind ; and Cas- 
ablanca had not yet struck his attitude on the burning 
deck. So young Cain was spared a host of discouraging 
influences. In short, there is every reason to believe, that, 
in spite of depressing conditions and surroundings, he 
grew up to be at least a better man than his father, who 
never had any bringing up at all. That he did not kill 
Abel in his boyhood is proof enough of this. There was 
discipline somewhere. 

And in the name of developed science and Christian 
charity, why not, in considering subsequent events, make 



100 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

due allowance for whatever phrenological excesses the 
cranium of young Cain may have possessed ? An intel- 
ligent father of to-day, figuratively speaking, can take his 
child's head by the forelock. He can detect what is within 
it, and counteract proclivities. If an ominous bump rise 
near his baby's ear, he is ready to check combativeness 
with " Mary had a Little Lamb," " Children, you should 
never let," and other tender ditties. In a word, he may 
take observations from the little mounts of character on 
his child's head, and so, if he be wise, direct the young 
life into safe and pleasant places. But Adam knew noth- 
ing of phrenology. Nor have we great reason to believe, 
that, if he had known of it, he would have discreetly fol- 
lowed its indications. Children are not always cherubs. 
We all know how the dearest of our little ones sometimes 
become so " aggravating " as to upset our highest phil- 
osophies. Was Adam more than human ? Say, rather, 
he was the fountain-head and source of human passion. 

Again, both children were the victims of an abiding pri- 
vation. They had the natural propensities of childhood. 
They had teeth, stomach, appetite, — all the conditions, 
we will say, of cholera infantum, — except the one thing 
for which they secretly yearned, — green apples ! These, 
of course, were not to be had in that house. They were 
not even allowed to be mentioned in the family. Not 
once in all their lonely childhood were those children 
comforted with apples. Think of the possibilities of in- 
herited appetite, and then conceive of the effect of these 
years of unnatural privation ! 

Again, who shall question that at times the deepest and 
most mysterious gloom pervaded that household ? Even 



INSANITY OF CAIN. lOI 

if Adam and Eve did not confide in their children, their 
oldest boy must have suspected that something was wrong. 
What was it? — the terrible something to be read, and 
yet not read, in the averted faces of that doomed pair ? 
They evidently had seen better days. Where ? Why ? 
How ? What had become of some vague inheritance that 
Cain felt was his by right? Morning, noon, and night, 
misty and terrible suspicions haunted his young mind. 
Night and noon and morning, the mystery revolved and 
revolved within him. Was this conducive to sanity ? 

Conceive of the effect of the animals seen in the chil- 
dren's daily walks ! There were no well-ordered mena- 
gerie specimens then, with Barnum or Van Amburgh in 
the background as a foil against terror. Savage beasts 
glared and growled and roared at every turn. Whatever 
geologists may say to the contrary, we must insist that the 
antediluvian animals did not necessarily antedate Adam. 
Taking the mildest possible view of the case, the plesio- 
saurus, pterodactyl, mastodon, and megatherium, in their 
native state, could not have been soothing objects of con- 
templation to the infant mind. 

Well, the boys grew up. But how bleak their young 
manhood ! No patent-leather boots, no swallow-tails, no 
standing-collars, no billiards, no girls to woo, no fellows to 
flout ! Nothing to do when the farm-work was over, and 
the sheep in for the night, but to look into each other's 
untrimmed faces with a mute " Confounded dull ! " more 
terrible than raving. 

Fathers of to-day, would your own children pass un- 
scathed through such an existence as this ? Your little 
Abels might stand it, but how about your little Cains? 



102 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

Would they not *' put a head " on somebody ? Would 
they not become, if not stark, staring mad, at least non 
compos maitis ? Gentlemen of the jury, these considera- 
tions are not to be lightly passed by. 

In judging of Cain, look at the situation. On the one 
hand, a terrible family mystery, no schools, no churches, 
no lectures, no society, no amusements, no apples ! On 
the other hand, the whole burden of humanity borne for 
the first time ; paternal discipline ; undue phrenological 
developments ; monotonous employment ; antediluvian 
monsters ; antediluvian parents, and an antediluvian good 
brother, in whose mouth butter would have remained intact 
for ages. 

Undoubtedly that brother had an exasperating smile. 
He was happy because he was virtuous. He had a way 
of forgiving and forgetting that for a time would deprive 
the offender of reason itself ; above all, he had a cool, col- 
lected manner of his own, added to a chronic desire to be 
an angel. His offerings always fulfilled the conditions. 
His fires needed only to be lighted, and the smoke was 
sure to ascend with a satisfied, confident curl far into the 
sky. 

Cain's, on the contraiy, refused to burn. We can see 
it all. The smoke struggled and flopped. It crept along 
the ground, and, clinging to his feet, wound about him like 
a serpent. It grew black and angry, shot sideways into 
his eyes, blinding and strangling him — 

And there stood Abel beside his pile, radiant, satisfied, 
wanting to be an angel ! 

It was but the work of a moment. The pent-up, dis- 
organizing influences of a life-time found vent in one wild 
moment of emotional insanity. Abel was no more ! 



INSANITY OF CAIN. I03 

Why dwell upon the tragedy ? The world is familiar 
with its sickening details. We shall not repeat them here, 
nor shall we question the justice of the punishment that 
came to Cain, — the remorse, the desolation, the sense of 
being a fugitive and a vagabond on the face of the earth. 
He had killed his brother, and the penalty must be paid. 
Sane or insane, a terrible retribution must have overtaken 
him. But how about his guilt .-' Would it have been the 
same in either case ? Are hereditary organism, tempera- 
mental excitability, emotional phrensy, to be disregarded ? 
No ! a thousand times no ! What " competent juror " 
would acquiesce in such a proposition ? 

" Am I my brother's keeper ? " cried the poor wretch, 
when called upon to name the whereabouts of the missing 
Abel. Who can doubt here that Cain, like any lunatic of 
our own time, believed himself alone to be sane, and those 
about him stark mad ? His use of the word " keeper " 
proves this. True, there were no lunatic asylums in that 
day ; but if the first original representative " inmate " 
was at large, where should or could the first representative 
keeper be but in that inmate's diseased imagination ? 

Friends, the time has come when this case must be taken 
up. Its mighty issues can no longer be set aside. If Cain 
was not sane at the moment of killing, the stain of murder 
must be wiped from his brow now and forever. This 
tardy justice may at least be done him. Our children and 
our children's children must be taught to speak of Cain 
the man-slaughterer ; Cain the mentally excitable ; Cain 
the peculiarly circumstanced ; but Cain the murderer ? 
Never ! 

A man's own testimony shall neither convict nor acquit 



I04 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

him. But are we not to take into account, as indicative 
of his state of mind, actions and declarations coincident 
with the commission of tlie crime alleged against him ? If, 
at or about the time of the fatal deed, there was positive 
evidence of incoherence, what then ? Witness the last 
recorded words of Cain : — 

" EVERY ONE THAT FINDETH ME SHALL SLAY ME." 

Is this the utterance of a sane mind ? " Every one that 
findeth me, shall slay me ? " Gentleman, Cain at this 
point was not only crazy — he was the craziest man that 
ever existed ! No ordinary lunatic, however preposterous 
his terrors, expects to be killed more than once. But to 
this poor madman retribution suddenly assumed a hydra- 
headed form. His distracted brain, unconscious that 
Adam was the only other man in the wide world, instantly 
created an immense population. He saw himself falling 
again and again by the strokes of successive assassins, 
even as Abel had fallen under his hand. His first dazed 
glimpse of death expanded and intensified into a horror 
never since conceived by mind of man. His happiness 
overthrown ; his reason a wreck ; a prey to fears that 
stretched before him forever, with no possible hope of 
final destruction, — the only consolation is, that he could 
not know the merciless verdict of posterity. He did not 
recognize in himself The First Murderer. Rather than 
dream of such ignominy as this, was it not better that he 
should cry in his ravings, " Every one that findeth me 
shall slay me ! " 

We leave the question to the intelligence and the justice 
of this faithful and enlightened century. 



SHODDY. 




Shoddy. 



" Show me the fortunate man, and the gods I forget in a moment." — Schiller. 

|OMEWHERE on this broad earth can always be 
found fit prototypes of the most wildly-conceived 
heroes and heroines of the fairy-tales. There are 
little Jacks in our day, subduing giants quite as formidable 
as those of the time of the great Blunderbore. The genii 
steam and electricity are offering seven-league boots and 
listening-caps to old and young ; and bean-stalk ladders 
are springing up at the feet of the restless Jacks whom 
fortune favors. The age has its drowsy Gullivers and its 
wide-awake Lilliputians ; its Sindbads, big with adventure ; 
and its "army of faithful believers," tilting at every thing. 
There are still Pussies-in-Boots, faithfully serving my lord 
the Marquis of Carabas; daughters spinning weary threads 
from distaffs never growing less ; social harps which at 
last cry " Master ! " and waken terrible ogres, and inquisi- 
tive wives vainly trying to re-polish the tell-tale key. We 
have Blue Beards, with sheathed cimeters, grimly extend- 
ing their matrimonial relations ; and sister Annies ever 
watchful of another's needs. There are Sleeping Beauties, 

107 



I08 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

alas ! by the thousand ; and fair ones with golden locks 
for whom princes and poets struggle. There are beasts, 
too, whom we learn to love, after we have entered their 
rose-lit sanctuaries ; and monsters who have sung, — 

"Fee! fo ! f urn ! 
I smell the blood of an Englishman 1 " 

There are Strong-backs who bear the world's burdens, 
and Hop-o'-my-Thumbs who contrive to slip its responsi- 
bilities ; maidens, whose tongues shed dangerous vipers, 
and maidens whose words are a shower of roses and 
pearls. Proud sisters are every day being humbled, and 
patient Cinderellas dropping the slipper that shall win 
them the prince. Foolish old couples are wasting their 
" wishes " on black-pudding ; and wise younger ones are 
finding the " treasure of life " in each other. There are 
saintly, ministering Red Riding-hoods, and, Heaven save 
the mark ! grandams, with very big eyes and ears, eager 
to devour them. Men and women are still sighing for 
the waters of perpetual youth ; and duenna-dragons are 
guarding enchanted and enchanting maidens. There are 
Ali Babas and envious Cassims ; sham oil-merchants and 
avenging Morgianas ; wicked but lucky peddlers and 
tailors, like those in the tales of the brothers Grimm; 
and Aladdins with very wonderful lamps indeed ! 

And here, after drifting down the stream of fairy lore, 
we cast anchor ; for it is with these peddlers and tailors and 
Aladdins that we have to deal. In short, at the risk of 
mixing the metaphor, I propose to "strike oil," the oil that 
fills the Aladdin-lamps of our own matter-of-fact day, when 



SHODDY. 109 

men cry Cui bono ? to every thing, and expect title-deeds to 
castles in the air.^ 

The discerning reader need not be told the name of 
this oil ; nor that the tailors and peddlers alluded to, with 
their fleet-winged geese and magic packs, are the so-called 
Shoddy contractors of the land of Stars and Stripes. 

Verily, it is true. In this fair land, the wildest tales of 
fairy chroniclers are rivalled by every-day experience. 
What are the exploits of Ali Baba compared with the dis- 
coveries of those who first said " Open Sesame " to the 
caves of Call Fornia ? And what was good Mrs. Cassim's 
zeal compared with that of the indefatigable Want-to-get- 
rich of modern days ? Then, when the caves were opened, 
how everybody rushed in, some coming out richly-laden, 
and some finding themselves (metaphorically) drawn and 
quartered, like poor Cassim ! But why tell an old story ? 
There is newer material for fairy work than this. There 
are these tailors and peddlers and Aladdins, at whom all 
America is just now gazing with distended eyes, wonder- 
ing at the new palaces flashing into existence, at the 
streams of wealth flowing into startled pockets, at the 
presto-touch changing ragged clowns into dazzling "gents," 
and, above all, at the fearful spell being cast upon 
American life by these strange creatures, lifted, as it were, 
by enchantment, into sudden wealth and importance. 

We shall consider the peddlers and tailors, i.e. the shoddy 
contractors, first. " Shoddy," according to one Simmonds, 

1 This paper originally appeared in the London Cornhill Magazine, about 
a dozen years ago. It is given a place in this volume because it records a 
state of things that in some respects has passed away, and become part of 
the social history of the RepubUc. 



no THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

— whom both Worcester and Webster use as a cat's-paw 
in handUng the ugly dissyllable, — is "a fibrous material 
obtained by ' devilling ' refuse woollen goods, old stock- 
ings, rags, &c. It differs from ' mungo,'" he says, "in 
being of an inferior quality, and is spun into yarn with a 
little fresh wool, and made into coarse cloth, drugget, 
padding, and other articles." 

So say the lexicographers. But, in this fast age, yester- 
day's dictionary is almost as much out of date as yesterday's 
newspaper. In the world's great book of synonyms we 
find that shoddy has been given a far wider signification. 
If Liszt, in his " Life of Chopin," can devote pages to 
the explanation of the Polish word zal, we should require 
volumes fairly to describe the American word " shoddy." 
It means pretence, vulgarity, assumption, the depth of 
folly, and the highest height of the ridiculous ; also gilded 
ignorance, mock-patriotism, wire-pulling, successful knav- 
ery, swindling, nay, treason itself. On the other hand, it 
implies innocent good luck, reward of merit, and the 
miraculous and sudden appearance (in the newly-rich man) 
of super-intelligence and all the cardinal virtues. It 
means vast expectations in hovels, and discomfort in pal- 
aces ; hippoo-birds, wretched with real golden crowns, the 
secret envy of hippoos with the comfortable yellow crest 
common to hippoodom. It means bare penury in the 
father, and gorgeous affluence in the son. It will mean 
ignorant dismay in the son at the scornful superiority of 
the grandson, and grandsons who will feebly ignore the 
name and character of the founder of their illustrious 
house. 

And this word, with its varied meanings and strong sig- 



SHODDY. Ill 

nificance, has been raised to its present altitude by no less 
a lever than the great American Rebellion. 

Now, a great rebellion calls for two things, — men to 
carry it on, and men to resist it ; and these, whatever may 
be their several patriotic aspirations, their valor, and en- 
thusiasm, must be fed, clothed, and equipped. Their 
respective governments, having no time to lose, stand on 
the " outer wall " of circumstance, and call loudly for the 
vendors of food, clothing, and ammunition to draw near. 
Honest industry hears the call, and prepares to answer it 
as far as conscience and means will allow. Meantime 
enterprise, whether honest or not, pricks up its ears, — 
" Hallo ! here's luck ! country in trouble — wants some- 
thing in a hurry — no time to examine — little down-hearted, 
I see — no harm in cheating the government." And the 
consequence is, a contract made so advantageously to the 
Treasury Department, that honest merit sighs, "I can't 
afford to go in," and settles down to the old routine. 

The fortunate contractor at once buys up all the floating 
" poor stuff " at home and abroad ; and his minions, with 
their sub-contracts, fatten themselves like vampires on the 
poor sewing-women of the land. Then come immense 
supplies of army-clothing, — flannel under-shirts, made of 
" human creatures' lives," and blankets and uniforms of 
veritable " shoddy." The armies march forth in gallant 
array. Soon follow innumerable catastrophes like that 
described by an observing troubadour of 1861 : — 

" ' March ! ' said the colonel. ' Forward, march ! ' 
Crack went the seams in halves I 
A hundred steps, a hundred men 
Showed just two hundred calves 1 " 



112 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

Notwithstanding this sad event, confiding officials still 
trust to the shoddy garments. They fade and rip, and 
burst apart, and drop to pieces, but the contractor feels 
secure. His fortune is made, let the soldiers shiver and 
curse as they may. What are a few thousand poorly-clad 
men to him ? He is comfortable, in his marble halls. 

Then come the peddlers with their packs, every thing by 
this time valued at an exorbitant rate ; for must not the 
army be fed and equipped ? With lying tongues and exult- 
ant hearts they present their wares. The inspectors are in 
a hurry ; in fact, their eyes are dim with war-smoke. 
Every thing is " passed," — leaky tents, glued shoes, 
mouldy oats, hickory beef, rusty pork, poor muskets, and 
worse ammunition. Broken-down horses and donkeys are 
transmuted (on paper) into war-steeds and mules ; and 
leaky, unseaworthy tugs, ycleped " vessels " by Shoddy, 
are sold at fabulous prices for the pursuit of nimble priva- 
teers, and the safe transportation of the country's defend- 
ers. The treasury grows lean ; but, like Mynheer Von 
Dunderland, the peddler-contractors grow fat. They count 
their gains in hundreds and thousands and millions ; they 
thrive and feast and are merry, while their victims, they 
who feel the real weight of their iniquity, are cheated of 
their soldier-death, and must fall in swarms, from the 
effects of insufficient shelter, bad food, and positive 
poison. 

Of course there are marked exceptions to these contracts 
and contractors ; but that theyare exceptions, and not the 
rule, seems to be generally admitted. 

When a great nation, overgrown with the mosses of 
peace, is stirred and shaken like a huge rock on the way- 



SHODDY. 113 

side, we all know what squirming, slimy things run forth 
helter-skelter ; how they wriggle and reach and burrow ; 
how nimble and eager and greedy they are, and how they 
fatten on the disturbed debris. But when the sunshine 
peers in among them, and freshening winds play about the 
old foundation, these slimy things soon disappear amid 
the chirp and hum of a better activity. This sunny-breeze 
state of things is now prevailing at the North ; but there 
are crowded graves east and west, — in the Shenandoah 
Valley, on the green banks of the Potomac, and the sunny 
slopes of Virginia, — on which the Shoddy contractors 
dare not look ; and homes, the very atmosphere of which 
should stifle them. 

If there are Shoddy sinners, there are also Shoddy 
saints ; men who, having committed no wrong, find them- 
selves suddenly very " well off ; " contractors, too, some 
of them, who fulfil their part like good Christians, and, 
strange to say, make money by that same. A certain 
class of lucky inventors, inspired speculators, sudden-rise- 
of-property men, and men who have " struck oil," or gam- 
bled successfully in stocks, make up the rest of the ranks 
of Shoddy ; and strange, motley ranks they are, swelled by 
the consequences and requirements of the civil war into 
a formidable body indeed. 

Shoddy has its shibboleth, but it is difficult to detect it 
amid the din of the times. It is en mascarade, and there- 
fore not always easily recognized. It has changes of 
surface like the chameleon, and stages of development 
rivalling the wonders of the polliwig. It can darken the 
very air around, and yet, like Peter Schlemihl, it has far 
more " substance " than shadow. Full of mysteries and 
contradictions, how shall we detect it ? 



114 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

Shoddy minces its words with anxious affectation ; 
Shoddy pours forth slang with a recklessness unparalleled ; 
Shoddy carelessly jingles its wealth, and invites mankind 
to come and see ; Shoddy clutches its gains with the sleep- 
less vigilance of the miser. Villanous Shoddy rises to a 
foam of sparkling benevolence ; virtuous Shoddy, like the 
rat in the fable, preaches industry to the starving from a 
pulpit of cheese. Shoddy sinners doze in the best pews 
on Sunday ; Shoddy saints stay at home, paralyzed by 
their sudden good fortune ; Shoddy merchants stand well 
" on the street ; " and Shoddy merchants dodge the sheriff 
round the corner. In fact, there is scarcely a form of 
human antithesis in which this same Shoddy does not shine 
supreme ; and we in turn bemoan it, laugh at it, despise 
it, envy it, insult it, and flatter it. We warn our children 
against its example, and sedulously emulate its display in 
our own humble manner. We cry, " Lord be merciful unto 
these miserable sinners! " even while we long to be able, in 
some mysterious and consecrated way, to go and do like- 
wise. We sneer at Mrs. O'Flaggerty's huge diamond, 
and conceive an intense dissatisfaction concerning the 
"mean little stone " that once had power to gladden our 
hearts. In fact, I am afraid, if Shoddy be absurd, we are 
foolish ; if Shoddy be sinful, we are without charity : but 
let that pass ; what we have to deal with now, is the ser- 
pent itself, not the community that, " charmed " and 
scotching by turns, is in danger of writhing within its 
folds. 

Nothing could be a greater mistake than to consider 
Shoddy as an invariable synonym for newly acquired 
riches. Men are frequently to be found who cast no 



SHODDY. IIS 

reproach on sudden prosperity, but rather exalt good for- 
tune by accepting it. These can hardly be called Shoddy, 
though their entire wealth come in a day. Neither, of 
course, can those be so classed who, by inheritance, fall 
from the bare limb of "good family" into the warm nest 
of plenty ; nor those whose honest gains, long withheld, 
are unexpectedly rendered to them en masse. The lines 
are wiredrawn, and yet the practical distinction to a close 
observer is as broad as day. 

When you see, as I have seen, a coarse-visaged, angular 
woman, dressed— ^ or rather covered — in the very extreme 
of the mode, weighted with velvet, silk, and sparkling 
jewels, and hear her exclaim, " Lor ! expense ain't no 
manner of consequence to us ? " you will undoubtedly 
detect a taint of Shoddy in the air. When you hear an 
" honored citizen " boasting, in bad English, of his well- 
known wealth and general can't-be-beativeness, you will 
know that Shoddy is not far away. When you enter a 
magnificent mansion, redolent of newness and fashion, 
and search in vain, amid the gorgeous upholstery, showy 
frescoes, and mongrel adornment, for the trailing home- 
flowers of elegance and repose, be sure that " Shoddy" is 
written on the wall. 

Sometimes a mere glance, or tone, or footfall, will 
betray the presence of Shoddy ; or a comment on life, 
science, art, music, or literature, will proclaim it as from 
the house-top, though you may have passed its legions, 
unaware, in the street. In brief, to really comprehend 
Shoddy, you must see its home, hear its conversation, and 
observe its actions, note its tastes and desires and aspira- 
tions. Then, and not until then, you can say, " This is 



Il6 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

Shoddy," — "This is not Shoddy," with the force of a 
Delphic decision. 

Meantime, this deponent, having valiantly penetrated its 
recesses, can offer certain personal testimony which may be 
of interest. No matter how or why these glimpses were 
obtained. Enough to say " I have been there to see." 

Never shall I forget my first entree into those hallowed 
precincts. We were a party of four, two ladies and two 
gentlemen, who, in consequence of having received a gold- 
lettered invitation to Mrs. G 's grand reception, had, 

on the appointed evening, proceeded in state to her showy 
residence on Fifth Avenue, New York, — an avenue, by 
the way, believed by " the Shoddy " to lead to heaven 
direct. 

Our "dressing-room" experiences were peculiar, and 
suggestive of strange scenes to follow ; but being, as we 
believed, well endowed with the repose of the Vere de 
Veres, we descended toward the scene of action with a 
tranquil consciousness of being in every way equal to the 
occasion. At the very foot of the stairway we were 
accosted by no less personages than the hostess herself, 
and her grown-up daughter. The latter looked pale 
and anxious ; but the mother, gorgeous in an intensely 
blue silk, and a huge coronet of pink and purple artificial 
flowers, evidently felt no misgivings. Both stared at us 
unconditionally. Suddenly a light illumined the counte- 
nance of the elder lady, as she broke forth in a loud, 
emphatic tone, — 

" Well, I declare ! Mrs. D. and Mr. E. ! How do you 
dol And Miss E. ! glad to see you, I'm sure; but the 
lights and every thing dazzles me so, I don't hardly know 



SHODDY. 117 

people. Miry, my dear, this is Mr. E. and Mrs. D., both 
kind friends of your pa, and Mr. E.'s daughter." (Aside 
to me.) " Who did you say the other gentleman was ? 
Oh, yes ! Mr. Stevens. Glad to see you, sir, you may 
depend. Young gentlemen are so scarce. Couldn't hardly 
get up the party for it. The war, you see, takes the best 
of 'em off. Oh, excuse me ; ha, ha ! I didn't mean no 
offence ! But every young gentleman at a party counts 
one; don't they, Miry?" 

" Lor', ma ! " simpered Miss G., blushing violently. 
Here Mr. Stevens, always superbly master of himself, 
gracefully hastened to the rescue, and in a moment Myra 
was laughing the girlish laugh which, thank Heaven ! 
even Shoddy cannot make unmusical. 

" Dear me ! " sighed the matron pathetically, without 
offering to allow us to pass into the drawing-room. 
*' They've been pouring in thick as sirup all the evening ! 
I'm so exhausted I can't hardly stand up." 

Then followed a painful silence. Through the arched 
rosewood doorway we could see the gayly-dressed throng 
within, — a sea of blue, pink, and white, in which frantic 
creatures in black broadcloth and white neckties • seemed 
to be insanely bobbing and whirling. Suddenly the music 
ceased. The waves, crested with gauze and gossamer, 
heaved violently for a moment, then parted like another Red 
Sea, and an army of Israelites, bearing silver trays laden 
with ices, passed safely through the temporary opening. 

" Gracious ! " exclaimed the hostess at last, with an 
apologetic start, " I ought to take you in. Miry," she 
added, nodding her head sidewise towards us as she spoke, 
"you must introduce them." 



Il8 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

" O mother ! " was the sotfo-voce reply, " I can't do it : 
I feel too used up." 

"Yes, you must," — very austerely, — " /sha'n't do it." 

Instinctively our devoted band, feeling that this " intro- 
duction " was inevitable, glanced at each other to ascer- 
tain whether any especial peculiarity rendered us unpre- 
sentable ; but we were faultless. 

Myra pouted, and looked toward the animated sea 
aforesaid, as if contemplating a suicidal plunge. 

'''■Myra yane /" pursued the now irate mother, "do as I 
tell you, miss, and stop putting on airs ! " 

The refractory daughter was conquered. " Well, moth- 
er," she replied in a stage whisper, " I'll do it altogether, 
but I can't introduce 'em separaieJ" 

Thus encouraged, we humbly followed the young lady ; 
and, after being presented in a most novel and remarkable 
manner to the staring mermaids and mermen, we found 
ourselves slowly drifting toward an anchorage in the glit- 
tering saloon. 

Young faces were there, radiant with intense enjoy- 
ment; older faces, with a startled, puzzled look upon 
them, as though the unaccustomed scene wrought more 
anxiety than pleasure ; hard faces, varnished with a mastic 
smile ; soft, uninterpretable faces, which were either saintly 
or horribly vicious ; and faces without any expression at 
all. 

Meantime the violins, being "under treatment," were 
relieving themselves by sundry melancholy squeaks. 
Groups of gentlemen, who seemed to have been recently 
presented with their hands and feet, were making desper- 
ate efforts to appear at ease. Neglected dames were sub- 



SHODDY. 119 

lime in a wretched nonchalance. Portly individuals in 
watch-chains were glancing uneasily at matrons, whose 
coiffures rivalled the Hanging Gardens of Babylon ; and 
youths and maidens, all apparently more or less afflicted 
with the dance of St. Vitus, were chatting merrily together. 
Of these I cannot say that, — 

" Their voices, low with fashion, 
Not with feeling, softly freighted 
All the air about the windows 
With elastic laughters sweet." 

In truth, — "and pity 'tis, 'tis true," — shrill tones, posi- 
tive guffaws, and giggling responses, rather predominated 
over the murmurs suggestive of a pleasant evening at the 
Lady Geraldine's ; and when the music floated forth once 
more, there was a rush, among the dancers, for " places," 
that would have been quite impossible in the days, — 

" When persons of fashion and taste. 

In dresses as stout as chain armor of old, 
The parties of Ranelagh graced. " 

Shall I describe the dancing or the dresses ? No ! It is 
enough to say of the former that I have seen nothing 
precisely like it elsewhere ; nor can my imagination find 
its prototype in the revel of bacchante, faun, or fairy. It 
was not wholly ungraceful, nor at all unconventional. It 
was just Shoddy, simple, uncompromising Shoddy, as for- 
eign in its fulness to the New York of a few years before as 
the dance of Eastern Houri or South Sea Islander. Of 
the dresses there might be much to say, were this a fash- 
ion article, or a low-tariif essay bearing upon foreign 



I20 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

importations. As it is neither, I will simply affirm, that, 
with but a few exceptions, bad taste and money seemed to 
have vied with each other as to whose power should 
predominate. 

We had quite lost sight of our amiable hostess, and 
were contemplating a dignified retreat to the dressing- 
rooms above, when we saw that lady bearing toward us 
under full sail. There were costly laces floating about 
her expansive shoulders, and glittering bracelets upon her 
roseate arms : still there was something so grotesque in 
her manner and appearance, that we were forced to risk 
the Scylla of an alarming gravity, in order not to fall into 
the Charybdis of an uncontrollable smile. A pang of 
rebuke smote me, however, when her ladyship, in a tone 
of genuine interest, whispered, — 

" You look kind o' lonesome, Mrs. D. ; 'fraid you ain't 
enjoyin' yourself ? " 

" Oh, yes, indeed ! " I answered, with the ardent imbe- 
cility with which persons usually perpetrate social fibs. 

" Ain't you danced ? " with a look that said, " If people 
dare to slight you here, just let me know." 

*' Thank you ! I really would prefer " — 

" Nonsense ! Come along ! I ain't a-going to have 
no wall-flowers in this company, I want to introduce you 
to a gentleman from Washington — monstrous rich ! " (she 
added in an intense whisper) " made a hundred and ninety- 
five thousand dollars in the last two months ! " 

It was in vain to resist. I remember a huge Titan in 
dancing-master attire, — a flabby, villanous countenance, — 
diamonds flashing from the centre of a wall of ruffled 
linen, — an atmosphere heavy with pomade, — and an 



SHODDY. 121 

avalanche of " excuse me, marms," following sundry acci- 
dents to my attire, and innumerable heartrending deser- 
tions and escajoades during the progress of " The Lancers." 
Beyond this my impressions are vague and unsatisfactory. 
In fact, there are many things connected with the occasion 
that I would " willingly let die," not excepting the mon- 
strous rich gentleman himself. 

Before the evening was over, I found myself in a smaller 
apartment, gorgeously furnished and rendered truly re- 
markable by the abominable, showily-framed paintings 
which nearly covered the walls. A human quartette was 
seated upon the sofa k la Kenwig, and it needed no second 
look to convince me that I saw the four children of our 
hostess. Feminine treble and masculine base were repre- 
sented there in equal parts ; but that effect was purely a 
matter of faith, as nothing in their faces betrayed that 
they ever had uttered a sound. 

Soon the mother appeared. " Lor' ! Mrs. D., you here ! 
Well, I had to get out of the parlers for a minjiit, it's so 
suffocating there. This is our family setting-room. Ellen, 
stick in your shoulder, miss ! " (This last was a dramatic 
aside directed to the sofa department). " I see you're 
lookin' at the paintin's. Well, we have got lots of them, 
that's certain. I tell Mr. G. we'll have a picture-gallery 
before we know it — ha ! ha ! but that's nothing, for the 
man's bound to have every thing that mone}^ can buy " — 

(Here a radiant, satisfied ripple of expression ran across 
the quartette upon the sofa). 

I tried to say something ; but alas ! the allusion to the 
possible art-gallery had jeopardized my gravity to such an 
extent that I could only cough pathetically. 
11 



122 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

"This 'ere big picture," pursued Mrs. G., "is a land- 
scape, — a landj-r^/^ by — children! who is this \?cs\^scape 
by?" 

" Mr. Benson," they all answered in a breath, closing 
their mouths instantly like four traps. 

"Yes, Mr. Benson. He's a Western man, Mrs. D., and 
don't charge more'n a quarter what these New York paint- 
ers ask. He paints pretty, though. Ain't that white fence 
too natural ? " she added, letting her head drop sideways 
with its weight of admiration. 

Alas, the fence was too natural, but I did not trust my- 
self to say so. I merely bowed, and stared vacantly at an 
ideal work representing, as I suspected, Cupid and Psyche, 
since the blue damsel depicted therein balanced a huge 
butterfly upon her shoulder, and her youthful companion 
had the inevitable wings and quiver of the mischievous 
God of Love. 

" That picture," broke forth Mrs. G., standing in superb 
disdain beside me, " ain't my taste — Mr. G. bought it. 
It's a fancy piece you see — Cupid and — children ! what 
did your pa say was the name of this picture ? " 

"Cupid and Per-j-//<r/^ ./" answered the two elder ones 
simultaneously. 

" Oh, yes, Cupid and V&x-sitch ! But, Mrs. D., you must 
look at our portraits : we've had one artist for a year 
past doing all our family. Here's Mr. G. and me. You 
viay think the yellow gloves in my picture ain't mates — 
any one might — but they are. The artist was bound to 
put one of them ' in shadder,' in spite of all / could say. 
This is Dan'el's picture (sit up straight, Dan'el, and let go 
your sister's sash) : it's like him, all but the hair. The 



SHODDY. 123 

naughty boy " (looking severely at Daniel) " burnt off one 
side of his curls last week, and we had to cut off the rest. 
Here's our youngest, Tommy — the end one on the sofa 
there — most beautiful boy! Always just as sassy and 
lively as you see him in the picture : aMt it like him, 
Mrs. D. ? " And, following the example of Lord Chatham, 
on a certain well-known occasion, Mrs. G. " paused for a 
reply." 

Shade of Polonius, pity me ! Tommy was a blue, moist- 
skinned little fellow, who looked as if he were in a state 
of chronic somnambulism. What could I do but falter, 
" Very like," without venturing to take a second look at 
the original ? 

" Mr. Benson said he never seen a harder child to 
paint," resumed Mrs. G. : " it was so difficult to get his 
expression." (Alack ! I should think it would have been 
very difficult.) " He took him at first with only one shoe 
on, and the other layin' on the carpet ; but I wasn't goin' 
to have a child of mine lookin' like that, so I made Mr. 
Benson just change the shoe on the carpet to something 
else, and put good pumps on the poor child. It's bad 
enough to have your young ones looking like wild about the 
house, without having their likeness took all in a muss ! " 

At this moment I saw, with a mingled feeling of mirth 
and apprehension, Mr. Stevens and Miss E. enter the 
" setting-room." The lady continued her picture-showing : 

" This next one is Katy," she said : " the child ain't 
as plump and rosy as that, I know, but her pa and me 
felt so in hopes she'd pick up that we had her took fat. 
Now, I had Ellen, here " (halting before a remarkably 
pigeon-breasted specimen of high art), " painted correc t in 



124 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

every thing but her chest. I ordered Mr. Benson to make 
that high, because the poor child is so awful flat, that it 
would only worry her father and me to see it hangin' be- 
fore us all the time. Besides, Ellen's going to Dr. Lewis's 
what-you-call-it ? Children! what's the name of Dr. Lewis's 
place ? " 

" Gym-naz-jum ! " replied the sofa promptly. 

" Ah, yes ! gym-naz-jum, that's it. Well, she's going 
there reg'lar after this, and Dr. Lewis says it'll soon fetch 
her chest out perfect." 

Oh! the agony, to me, of this protracted interview — 
the consciousness of being watched by that unpitying, fun- 
loving pair — the convulsive laughter deep in my very 
heart as my good-natured chaperon led me from one mas- 
terpiece of artistic abomination to another ! There were 
a few other persons in the apartment, all speaking at once, 
their voices mingling strangely with the rise and fall of 
the miusic surging through the mansion ; but I dared not 
look upon them as the irrepressible mother talked on. 

" Here is something now that you must see " (pointing 
to an execrably painted waterfall, resembling a combina- 
tion of green calves'-foot jelly and gingerbread). *' This 
picture is my daughter Miry's work ; ain't it beautiful ? 
but do you know, her real talent is figger-paintin^ — that's 
her talent ! I showed Mr. Benson (the one that does all 
our pictures, except the frames — they come from Goupil's) 
— I showed him this picture, and told him that Miry's 
teacher said she had great talent for painting ; and says 
he, ' Madam, if your daughter has a talent for art, it must 
be for figger-paintin', — he told me just from looking at 
that waterfall ! " she added triumphantly. 



SHODDY. 125 

It is possible that by this time my expression had be- 
come idiotic, or at least blank, Mrs. G. evidently felt 
that further elucidation was required. 

" Figger-paintin','' she continued, raising her voice to a 
didactic pitch, " is paintin' of figgers and animals, you 
know; that's what the artists call it — figger-paintin'" — 
laying down the information with a patronizing emphasis. 

" Ah ! " I ventured. 

" Yes, Mr. Benson, being a painter, could put his finger 
right on Miry's talent — ' it must be, madam,' says he, ' it 
must be it's ' — heavens ! Ellen Ann ! catch Dan'el ! " 

This startling peroration was caused by an eccentric 
movement of the child Daniel, who, having fallen asleep, 
upright, upon the sofa, was announcing, by a preliminary 
pantomime, his intention of shortly precipitating himself 
upon the floor. Fortunately, Ellen Ann was equal to the 
emergency. " Dan'el's " precious nose was saved, and 
the youth restored to partial wakefulness by means of a 
brisk maternal shaking. 

" Gracious ! " exclaimed Mrs. G., becoming suddenly 
conscious that, though art may be " long, time is fleeting," 
" I ought to be in the parlor with the company. What 
will folks think of me ? Dear me ! what a bother ! " 
So saying, the lady vanished in a glimmer of blue, purple, 
and pink. 

Those last significant words were echoed in my brain 
again and again that night, during the wakeful hours that 
followed my introduction into " Shoddy " society. Poor 
Mrs. G. ! what will folks think of her ? What a bother ! 
what a bother ! 

A full and faithful record of the manners and customs 



126 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

of Shoddy — of its histories, thoughts, feelings, and deeds 
— who could write it ? We have had time to afford but 
a glance into the home of one of the lucky " peddlers." 
As for the " tailors," with their fleet-winged geese, " we 
could, an' if we would," tell much of them — but mean 
time the genii of the lamp are waiting. We must move 
onward. Come with me to the chief domain of the great 
magician, he who fills the thousand lamps which Aladdins 
uncounted are now rubbing in bewildered delight. You 
will be surprised to learn what a noisy, dirty, crazy-looking 
place it is.-^ The good old Quaker who named the State 
which encloses it would lift his hands in horror at the 
sight. Squalid and tumble-down, yet at the same time a 
very wilderness of newness, with its swarming population, 
with its sheds, hovels, improvised hotels, and unsightly 
new houses, it appears to have been conjured by the 
magician during a severe fit of nightmare. For miles 
and miles, crowds of derricks rear their heads in every 
direction. Engines, bound to the spot, are puffing and 
laboring ; engines on distant rail-tracks, screeching be- 
neath an invisible lash as they hurry away with their 
burdens ; and huge blackened reservoirs are pouring forth 
torrents of wealth. Near by are the bluffs, sitting like 
Memnons guarding the rivers of oil beneath. Big with 
the secrets of ages, they lean forward as if humanity had 
at last awakened their interest. Sometimes a great 
tongue of flame darting upward, as if to lap coolness from 
the clouds, tells us that an oil-spring has been accidentally 
set on fire. Miles of carts, groaning like living things, 

1 Oil Creek, Venango Co., Perm. 



SHODDY. 127 

wriggle their way through the heavy mud, led on by 
patient horses and swearing men. Women in motley 
attire, anxious to buy impossible wares, run out to meet 
the occasional dray of the itinerant grocer or market-man. 
Dirty boys, with the flutter of possible wealth in their 
rags, bully the scions of " recent arrivals," or anxiously 
hang around " dad " as he sinks the great shaft " on 
shares " with McConnaky. Truly " Oil Creek " presents 
a strange scene, and all its wildness and oddity culminate 
in its metropolis. Desolate and crowded, neglected and 
thriving, abject and enterprising, ruinous in aspect, yet 
grand with invisible golden domes, is Oil City ; and above 
and around floats the breath of the great magician, stifling 
and nauseous to unconverted mortals, yet like a glorious 
incense to the pilgrims who bow down and worship him. 

Verily the city is worthy of its name. Every thing is 
oil. The one long, crooked, bottomless street glistens 
black with mud and oil. The shanties and houses are 
oily. Oily derricks stand in the back-yards ; and men 
with their thousands "in bank" walk the oily planked 
sidewalk in garments grimy with oil. Oil-boats, laden 
with oil, float sleekly past on the oil-covered river. Even 
the dogs and horses are oily ; and the little fish crowding 
under the oily shore, find themselves packed like sardines 
before they know it. There are oily shops, where the very 
wrapping-paper breaks out in transparent blotches ; and 
oily banks, attended by oily cashiers, where oily money is 
deposited as the product of oil. There is oil in the very 
atmosphere you breathe, oil in the water you drink, and a 
mysterious unction about your daily fare. The inhabitants 
" talk oil," too, until your senses are in danger of slipping 



128 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

away from you. Then, again, oil is the one great social 
leveller. Good " blood " is at a discount, and a derrick 
can lift to the plane of the highest. Your teamster 
yesterday may be your Rothschild to-day; and your 
neighbor, however detestably vulgar in speech and manner, 
can snub you with a successful " drill." If he has " struck 
oil," and you have not, local ethics will exalt him, and 
defy you to prove your superiority. 

Here are the headquarters of the great magician. Of 
course, like other magicians, he has been for ages popping 
up in all sorts of places ; but it was at Oil Creek that 
he first touched the rock for the benefit of modern Alad- 
dins. They were rough, homespun fellows, ignorant and 
wretchedly poor, for their lands had barely yielded a sub- 
sistence. One would have thought them just the men to 
venture desperately into the jewelled cave. But no : 
" ready cash " was too tempting. Nearly every man of 
them sold his lamp to the highest bidder, and left for 
more fertile fields. Consequently the genii of wealth and 
enterprise were soon, as all the world knows, serving new 
masters. 

One of these Aladdins, however, had an adopted 
mother, a shrewd old soul, whom we will call the widow 
McGannon — catch her selling the lamp ! No, she rubbed 
it, and rubbed it, and daily the genii brought her, first 
gold, then " greenbacks ; " she stowed the treasure away 
in every nook and cranny of her tumble-down shanty, 
until it could hide no more. This was all very well. But 
one day the old lady was trying to light her fire : the 
rusty stove had been troublesome of late, harboring spite 
it seemed to the green wood cast aside in loading rafts 



SHODDY. 129 

for Pittsburg. This day there was a great spluttering 
and hissing wlien the wood went in, but no blaze. In her 
dilemma the old lady poured from a bucket some of the 
great magician's oil upon it, when presto ! the demons of 
flame sprang forth ! In vain the Widow McGannon 
screamed and struggled : they never let go their wreath- 
ing hold upon her until she and her money were parted 
forever ! 

This old lady had recently drawn a will, making her 
adopted son Tommy sole heir. For fifteen years past, the 
young gentleman had been content to do odd jobs in the 
village, diverting himself in the meantime with toad- 
sticking and " making of little mud-pies : " now he col- 
lected the treasure so carefully hidden behind board, 
rafter, and beam, and proceeded to investigate his affairs. 

Half of the original farm had been sold by the widow 
at the commencement of the oil-fever. The remainder 
she had prudently divided, and leased, on shares, to differ- 
ent "companies," with the agreement that she should re- 
ceive half of the oil obtained. By this time the yield was 
prodigious. The ragged, ignorant country boy became at 
once a millionnaire, with an additional income variously 
estimated to be from three to six thousand dollars a day ! 

Remembering Malvolio cross-gartered, we need not 
wonder that the widow McGannon's heir should feel 
inclined to make, in Shoddy phrase, a " splurge " on the 
occasion of his sudden good fortune. Young men do not 
fall every day into fields yellow with real golden butter- 
cups. Besides, Tommy was good-hearted and generous ; 
and, since the roots were sure to bloom again, he scattered 
the buttercups in every direction. 



I30 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

As may be supposed, Thomas lost no time in " seeing 
the world." Wherever he went, tales of his queer ways 
and startling expenditure split the ears of the groundlings. 
To hire the grandest suite of apartments of the leading 
hotels, as he passed along ; to entertain his acquaintances, 
intimate and casual, with princely munificence while he 
staid, and when he left for an absence of a month or 
more, to retain the rooms, with directions that his 
" friends " arriving in the mean time should be *' made 
comfortable " at his expense. All this was a mere baga- 
telle to him. There were rumors that, when he pat- 
ronized the theatres (eschewing private boxes as "too 
confinin' ") he secured a dozen seats, in order to have 
room to "spread himself," as he said; but I record this 
eccentricity with mental reservation. 

Certain it is, however, that once, while visiting a West- 
ern cit)'', he directed his friends to obtain for him " a 
prime bang turn-out," which, translated, means a carriage 
and two or more steeds to draw it. Soon he became sole 
proprietor of a " five-thousand-dollar team," with equipage 
to correspond. Now Tom was glorious ! Never rode 
young man more incessantly. His " team " seemed des- 
tined to solve the problem of perpetual motion ; and the 
gaping bystanders could hardly tell whether they were 
witnessing a pleasure-ride or a " runaway." 

But what youth of spirit could be expected to derive 
satisfaction forever, even from a "turn-out"? At the 
expiration of a fortnight. Tommy's coachman, having 
vainly waited two days for orders from " the boss," pre- 
sented himself before his employer. 

Our Aladdin was lounging in an elegant apartment, 



SHODDY. 131 

moodily nibbling a cigar. Perhaps he had grown tired of 
" fun : " or it may be, he was thinking of a kind voice that 
the flame-demons had stilled. At all events, he was medi- 
tative. 

The man coughed, and said, " Yer honor," twice, before 
Tommy looked up, with a gruff "Hey? What do you 
want now ? Who are you ? " 

"John, sir, — the coachman, sir. Did you want the 
carriage brought round to-day, sir ? " 

"No : I'm. going off in half an hour, — going East." 

" Goin', sir ! An' will I be stoppm' wid you any longer, 
sir ? " 

" No, I s'pose not. Here, take this. That'll square 
us." 

" Thank'ee, sir. Sure, that's good pay, sir. But, if I 
may make so bold, what's to be done wid the horses, sir .'' 
Is it kept at Williams's they'll be, yer honor ? " 

" The bosses ! Oh, I don't want 'em no longer ! I'm 
going off for good in a few minnits." And Tommy, 
quietly puffing his cigar, consulted an enormous gold 
watch. 

" But, yer honor " — 

" Oh ! go long with you. I don't wajit the team, I tell 
you. Take 'em, and keep 'em : kill 'em, or do what you 
please with 'em ; only clear out." 

" Be the Lord, sir ! And is it kape the craytures meself 
you're sayin' ? " 

Tommy nodded, gave another puff, and pointed to the 
door. " Yes : take 'em, carriage and all, and go about 
your business." 

One day, when Tommy was " doing " New York, he 



132 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

Strode into Tiffany's magnificent jewelry establishment on 
Broadway, and startled the assembled salesmen with a 
loud, " Show us a dimond ! " 

" Here is one, sir," responded an elegantly modulated 
voice from the " diamond department." " Eighty dollars, 
sir." 

" Pooh ! not such a speck as that ! Something big- 
ger ! " 

" Allow me to show you this. Very pure stone, sir, — 
one hundred and sixty dollars." 

" Nonsense — bigger ! " 

Herewith the gentlemanly salesman (whom I have 
always suspected to be a noble lord in difficulties) pro- 
duced a brilliant of about the size of a small pea. " Exqui- 
site stone, sir — first water — eight hundred." 

" Look here ! " cried Tommy, becoming exasperated. 
" If you've got a reg'lar dimond, fetch it out : if you 
haven't, just say so." 

My lord, half-amused, half-vexed, here, by way of to- 
tally annihilating his rough customer, brought out the 
Koh-i-noor of the place. " Will this suit you, sir ? Mod- 
erately fine stone : price, fifteen thousand dollars." 

" Now you're comin' to it ! " cried Tommy, decidedly 
mollified. " Is this the tiptop biggest ? " 

" It is, sir," replied his lordship coolly (stroking his beard 
at the same time, as if to say, " Now, my rustic friend, I 
have wasted quite enough time upon you : you may go.") 

" You ain't got nothin' bigger now ? " 

" Nothing, I assure you." 

" Then I'll take it." 

My lord, I grieve to say, lost his presence of mind, and 



SHODDY. 133 

stared ; but Thomas at once produced a huge roll of 
" greenbacks," counted out the money, and the sale was 
concluded.^ 

This, as I am told, occurred in the early days of Shoddy. 
Now my lord, having become familiar with its ways and 
means, would scarcely lift his eyelids, were his coal-heaver 
to propose to buy out the entire concern. 

Not all the newly rich, however, allow their money to 
be seen among men. There are instances in the oil-coun- 
try, as it is called, of persons who a few months ago were 
at least tranquil in their poverty, and are now suffering all 
the tortures of the miser. I know of one whose wealth 
has come upon him so fast as literally to overwhelm him. 
He is bowed with the mere weight of possession. The 
flowing wells upon his single acre are yielding him four 
thousand dollars daily, as his share of the profits. He is 
afraid to trust to the banks, and government bonds do not 
look enough like money to satisfy him. He must have 
gold. Consequently, as fast as his money pours in he 
converts it into specie, and packs it in boxes and butter- 
firkins. These he buries in his cellar, each one, as he 
hides it away, leaving a corresponding weight of care in 
his weary heart. Nothing is added to his personal com- 
forts, and matters of luxury are unthought of. His sole 
extra outlay is to hire a guard of twenty men, to watch his 
house night and day. A less number might suffice, but 
perhaps half of them are required to act as a check upon 
the others. Poor rich man ! Who would dream his 
dreams, or share his waking cares, to be worth a million ? 

On the other hand, I can point out a late hard-working 
1 These accounts of Tommy, and others, are cited from act.ual life. 



134 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

rustic, whom wealth has truly blest. A grand, startled, 
honest look beams from the man's face. A millionnaire, 
he can hardly write his own name ; but when the first great 
wave of " riches " surged through his heart, some noble 
thoughts, long buried under the sands of want and toil, were 
laid bare, — thoughts that he will cherish reverently. They 
will tell him new things of humanity, of his own undevel- 
oped powers. They will guide him with an unerring wis- 
dom in training his sons and daughters. The satirists of 
Shoddy must bow to that man, and let him pass. 

In contrast to the bright, contented spirits, bubbling up 
on the surface of Oil Creek prosperity, we have circulating 
thunder-gusts in the form of men who have invested largely 
in untried lands, and failed to realize their expectations. 
Forsaken wells are seen in every direction, their derrick- 
monuments marking the spot where hope and cash lie 
buried, without a chance of resurrection. Not more black 
are the smoke-stacks, everywhere dotting the scene, than 
the looks of these men ; and their talk is a marvellous 
mixture of gall and oil. Sometimes you meet a weary, 
well-dressed man, anxiously scanning the " operations," 
and asking questions of every clown and laborer he meets. 
He is an investigator, and he lacks " grit." You can see 
it in his eye. If he have not already lost his money " in 
oil," he will lose it soon. 

One of these heavy-hearted men lately hastening along 
the plank sidewalk of Oil City, accidentally knocked over 
a starved-looking little girl, whose tattered garments 
seemed to have passed beyond the reach of soap. 

" Oh, I beg your pardon ! Are you hurt, my poor 
child ? " he exclaimed, stooping to lift her. 



SHODDY. 135 

" Go 'long ! " cried the girl, springing to her feet, and 
shaking down her rags with immense hauteur. " I ain't 
poor ! Dad struck ile yesterday ! " 

We can imagine tlie wistful gaze that followed the child 
on her onward way. 

It is instructive to watch the developments of the would- 
be Shoddy. In the conflict of pride and cupidity, the best 
part of the man is taken captive, literally falling into the 
hands of the enemy. Instructive, too, and sad, to note 
the trials and mortifications befalling the elect of Shoddy. 
Think of the chagrin of the new billionnaire at Washing- 
ton, when he saw in the morning papers comments like 
this on his first grand ball : *' A truly magnificent affair ; 
cost, it is estimated, $100,000, which represents the exact 
profit on one hundred cannon, large numbers of which 
have been furnished the government by this contractor." 

Think of the weariness of the Shoddy lady, who, ennuied 
with her superb house and uncongenial surroundings, said 
to a friend of mine, "Ah! it's all very fine; but my old 
friends kind o' stay 'way from me, and my new ones make 
fun of me, I know they do. Every thing that money can 
buy I've got by the bushel ; but I ain't happy, Miss Mary, 
I really ain't happy." 

Study Shoddy while you may. It is a transient " insti- 
tution " at best. Soon its strong characteristics will be 
lost, its peculiarities worn away. Its like has never been 
on earth. Remembering those ten remarkable years when 
speculation ran mad over Europe, when the South Sea 
bubble encompassed all England, and John Law ruled 
France with his Midas-promise and dissolving views, it is 
safe to assert that the Shoddy of to-day stands without a 



136 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

parallel in human history. It is the one new thing under 
the sun not dreamed of by Solomon. America, in common 
with all Christendom, regards it with mingled feelings of 
disgust, amusement, and concern. " Where will it end ? " 
is the question on every lip. 

Verily it will end just where it began, — in human 
nature itself. It is not more American, after all, than it is 
Adamite. That it has, for the present, found a local habi- 
tation and a name in America, is because nowhere else 
has Nature so lavishly and unexpectedly poured forth her 
treasures among the people, or a national emergency arisen 
offering temptations so unparalleled, both to enterprise 
and cupidity. And Shoddy has its mission. It will en- 
able mankind to see more plainly than ever before the 
absurdity of pretence, the vulgarity of display, and the 
folly of imagining that money alone can make a gentleman. 
It will point a brazen finger, for all time, at imposture and 
treason, and the rottenness of the virtue that presents its 
fair side to individual men, but yields to temptation in 
dealing with governments and corporations. It will de- 
velop new necessities and new industries, bring a fresh, 
hardy element to society, by educating new classes, open 
a channel through which the poor may receive a share of 
the refining influences which surround the rich ; and, what 
is of very great importance, it will put money into the 
national purse. 

Large capitalists are needed in these days for vast 
enterprises ; and Shoddy, with its bursting coffers, can 
furnish its quota of these. The Americo-Russian tele- 
graph has its prospective message to Shoddy. The Pacific 
Railroad is its humble servant. Other proposed public 



SHODDY. 137 

improvements beckon to it invitingly. Science, even, is 
pointing the way that Shoddy must go. From north, 
south, east, west, — wherever gold, oil, quicksilver, or coal 
lie buried, — there is a call for Shoddy to come and grow 
richer still ; and Shoddy will eagerly answer the summons. 
Just now, when the nation is coming out of its struggle for 
life or death, when it requires fresh explorers and new 
resources to enable it to meet the tremendous demands 
made upon it, Providence reveals these long-kept secrets, 
discloses these hidden stores, these illimitable reservoirs 
of wealth, and — let us believe it — gives us Shoddy. 

It may seem whimsical to begin my argument with fairy- 
land, and end it with Providence ; but does not life itself 
so open and close ? The magic delights of our childhood 
become recognized as God-given in our age. Our early 
wishes are for fairy benefits; our later prayers are for 
divine blessings. 
12* 



SKETCHES. 



My Mysterious Enemy. 



[The following narrative is a true record of incidents which occurred in 
New York, not many years ago. The affair made some talk in private circles, 
but I believe it never got into the papers. For obvious reasons fictitious names 
are used. The account is given to the public in the belief that it may throw 
light upon the mysterious question of Natural Antipathies.] 




NEVER liked him. Nay, my whole nature re- 
coiled in terror when my glance first met his 
small, piercing eyes, as he suddenly passed 
through the reception-parlor, where I sat chatting with 
Lieutenant Charles. The lieutenant noticed my terri- 
fied start, and the change of color which doubtless ac- 
companied it; for he sprang up instantly, and would 
have followed the intruder had I not promptly checked 
him, and, with a forced smile, endeavored to resume the 
conversation so unpleasantly interrupted. 

" And you will not give me the picture, Fanny ? " asked 
the lieutenant, after a few moments' pleading concerning 
my carte de visite which had lately been taken. " You will 
not give it to me ! " he echoed sadly, after reading his 
answer in my countenance ; " but surely I may see it ? " 
"Certainly," I answered, half regretting the coquetry 

141 



142 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

which had prompted me to deny him in the matter. 
" It is in my room : I will bring it to you in an instant." 

Rising from my seat as I spoke, I hastened into the 
hall. Good gracious ! there He stood, at the very foot of 
the stairway, motionless, as though he had been listening 
to our conversation. I sprang back into the room with a 
beating heart, and tears of vexation in my eyes. 

" You have seen him again ! " exclaimed the lieutenant, 
starting from his seat. 

But before the door was reached my hand was upon his 
arm — 

" No," I urged, " do not go : it will be useless, and ex- 
cite an unnecessary alarm in the household. In a moment 
he will go awa)^, and I will then get you the picture, and 
laugh at my folly at the same time." 

" Your folly in getting me the picture ? " bantered the 
lieutenant gayly. Then he added quickly, with a new 
anxiety on his face, " Forgive me, Fanny, this matter is 
more serious with you than I at all imagined. Surely there 
is" — 

" Say no more about it," I interrupted, trying to smile. 
" There are some influences which it is useless to attempt 
to explain. We can only recognize, and, if need be, strug- 
gle to resist them. I am ashamed of the weakness which 
you have witnessed this morning, and must trust to 
your generosity not to interpret it too harshly." 

He pressed my hand respectfully, and was silent. But 
what meant that shrewd, almost sarcastic smile, when a 
moment afterward, as we heard the hall door shut heavily, 
he said, " Your enemy is probably out of the way now : 
will you bring me the picture ? " 



AfV MYSTERIOUS ENEMY. 143 

This " enemy," as, alas ! the lieutenant had only too 
truly called him, was, like myself, a lodger in a boarding- 
house. The landlady, Mrs. Hone, heard me sympathet- 
ically when, in confidence, I hinted at the annoyance he 
caused me, and, in her peculiar phraseology, promised " to 
rid the house of him " as soon as she possibly could ; but 
begged me not to speak of the matter in the mean time, 
for there was nothing, she said, which she dreaded so much 
as " a stir " among her boarders ; and among her lady 
boarders she was sure " this business would make a stir if 
any thing could." 

I promised to remain silent, though more than once 
afterward I was tempted to regret my hasty acquiescence. 
Mr. Williams, a strong young man, with whom I was a 
favorite, lived on the fourth floor ; and he could doubt- 
less soon have effected the removal I so much longed for. 
As for leaving, myself, that was impossible. I was an 
orphan, — a dependent on a wealthy invalid uncle, who, 
being once comfortably settled in Mrs. Hone's excellently 
kept house, would not of course be tempted to leave it 
except for some more potent and tangible reason than I 
could offer. 

Whether my tormentor knew my sentiments toward him 
or not, I cannot say ; but I never, during the uneasy days 
that followed, heard him hurrying along the hall, or 
stealthily passing my room close to its very door, but I 
felt an involuntary shudder, and with difficulty suppressed 
the cry that rose to my lips. Once I met him on the 
stairway, and, scarce conscious of what I was doing, I 
bounded past him with a quick scream, and rushed into 
my room. Why^ I cannot tell, except that my whole being 



144 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

loathed the creature, and felt a presentiment of coming 
evil from his presence. Not one word had we ever ex- 
changed, and I do believe if he had spoken to me I should 
have fainted with terror ; but his restless, intense glance 
had more than once met mine, and that was enough. 
There was a natural antipathy between us : we were born 
to be enemies. 

Meantime my brave lieutenant had gone back to 
the war. He had, after all, taken my picture with him 
and my heart also. Only those who love, and are doomed 
for a while to be parted, with chances of danger and death 
between them, can know of the eagerness with which I 
awaited his first letter. Soon it came, one glorious sum- 
mer afternoon, with its more glorious news : " Our army is 
moving rapidly. We shall fight ! We shall conquer ! " 
the letter said, " and some of us must fall ; but, living or 
dying, dearest, remember that one heart shall " — 

I read no more ; for at the bare thought of the possi- 
bility of losing my hero, the half-read sheet fell from my 
hands, and there, in the solitude of my room, I leaned 
upon the window-sill, and wept long and bitterly. I loved 
my country, freedom, and the right ; but oh ! did I love 
them enough for the chance of this ? My brave, noble 
lover ! If he should perish, what would freedom, kindred, 
the light of heaven itself, be to me ? Suddenly a rustling 
outside of my slightly-opened door aroused me ; and re- 
called to my letter, I stooped to pick it up. // was gone ! 

Bewildered and alarmed, I hastily shook the folds of my 
dress, and searched floor, table, and chair, quite certain 
that no other human being had been in the room since I 
had entered with the letter, when the door opened wider, 



MV MYSTERIOUS ENEMY. I45 

and our landlady's head, decked in all the pride of her 
gorgeous dinner-cap, was thrust into the apartment. Her 
face was paler than usual, and her manner somewhat flur- 
ried, as she laughingly exclaimed, — 

" Miss Fanny, if you leave your love-letters lying about 
the halls, you can't expect to keep your secrets long. Not 
that I have learned them," she added quickly; "but some 
less trusty personage might have picked it up, you know." 

" Mrs. Hone," I gasped, scarcely heeding her words as 
I almost snatched the precious sheet from her hands, " I 
entreat you to tell me how you came in possession of this 
letter." 

" Why, I've told you already," she replied rather sharply. 
" I picked it up in the entr}'-, just outside of your door. It 
was no ghost dropped it there either (so you needn't turn 
so white), but only that R" — 

A sudden thought seemed to check her intended confi- 
dence ; for she muttered something about people being so 
" awful nervous," and, breaking into a disagreeable laugh, 
hastily left the room. A moment afterward I heard her 
angry voice chiding Betty, the housemaid, for some real 
or fancied neglect of duty, with the sharp reprimand not 
to " leave that door open again, if she valued her place." 

That door ! Could she mean my door ? And was I, as 
far as practicable, to be kept shut up in my room, so that 
he might wander unrestrainedly about the house ? And 
what had meant my landlady's flurried manner, her sud- 
den reticence, if in some way my tormentor had not been 
concerned in this mysterious occurrence ? For though I 
by this time knew well enough who had taken the letter, 
how it had been accomplished without my knowledge was 
13 



146 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

a mystery. It was not more than a week since I had first 
spoken to Mrs. Hone of the object of my fears ; and 
already she would flush angrily if I even alluded to the 
conversation and to her solemn promise to relieve me of his 
odious presence. She had even gone so far as to say that 
" some persons were too fidgety for comfort ; and for her 
part, she couldn't for the life of her see what there was to 
make such a fuss about. Goodness knew, she didn't want 
any such creature as him in her house ; and if I thought 
she did, I was mistaken : that was all ! " After this sin- 
gular change of feeling, I kept my own counsel in the 
matter, though I fully resolved to avail myself of the first 
opportunity of persuading my uncle to change his board- 
ing-place. 

This was the way that matters stood on the day that 
my letter was so mysteriously borne away almost from my 
very hands. After recovering it, I eagerly read it through 
again and again, shuddering, in spite of myself, at a cer- 
tain passage which the reader shall see. The lieutenant, 
considerate, in all things, had evidently tried to express 
himself so as to annoy me as slightly as possible; but it 
thrilled me for all that. Here is the passage : — 



" By the way, my dear Fanny, you must know that there came into our 
tent last night what seemed to me the very identical being wlio so startled you 
///(T/ evening. Has he disappeared from No. 123? If so, it was himself. 
If not, it was his dottble. Size, style, and gait were the same. He had the 
identical quick, glancing eye, sharp, white teeth, and pointed nose. Can 
there be two such beings ? Was it from sympathy with you that I felt such 
an instinctive aversion to him ? 1 made a dash at the fellow ; but he escaped 
into the darkness as mysteriously as he had come. Our captain and a few of 
our boys were in the tent at the time, and seemed to be much astonished at my 
violent movements ; and at my remaiking (as I quietly sat down among them 



MV MYSTERIOUS ENEMY, 147 

again), 'That fellow came precious near receiving his finishing-touch,' they 
all protested that ikey had seen no one enter the tent, and begged for an ex- 
planation ; but I chose to let them remain in their mystified condition. A 
mysterious coincidence, at least, was it not ? " 

To me it would have been a terrible circumstance ; and 
so I told him in my reply. But my brave hero knew not 
the meaning of fear. 

At last, after reading the letter over (I am ashamed to 
tell how many times), I sought the bedside of my uncle, 
and endeavored to render the long summer afternoon less 
tedious to the dear sufferer. He was aged ; and the 
natural infirmities of his years had been hastened and 
increased by a slow, incurable disease. How my heart 
went forth toward him as, with loving hand, I brushed 
back the silver locks from his temples, longing that my 
touch might heal as well as soothe ! Ere long he passed 
into a tranquil slumber ; and carefully adjusting the sashes 
so that the soft breeze might play refreshingly about him, 
I slipped noiselessly into my chamber. 

And now, at this point, I must become minute, and per- 
haps even tedious in detail ; for I have a strange story to 
tell, and wish faithfully to relate the occurrences of that 
night. 

There was but one other boarder on the second floor of 
Mrs. Hone's house besides my uncle and myself. This 
was a stern, unsociable man, named Foster ; a bachelor, 
who always returned one's cordial " Good-morning " with 
an unmoved face and a jerky bow, as though his good 
angel had suddenly pulled some invisible string to prevent 
him from seeming the surly fellow he really was. This 
gruff personage stalked up the stairs, and into his room. 



148 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

soon after I had entered mine. Our apartments were at 
the back of the house, and adjoining ; though his, being 
but a small chamber at the end of the hall, had its door 
standing at a right angle with my own. I could hear him 
moving briskly around his room for a while ; and finally, 
as I arose to close my door, saw him emerge, carpet-bag 
in hand, and disappear at the turn of the stairway. Soon 
after there were other footsteps in his chamber, apparently 
those of two persons ; and I could hear my landlady's 
voice saying, in her usual indiscreet over-tone, — 

" There is no other way : we will have to try poison, 
though I dread the consequences." 

Then there was some muttered reply ; and a discussion 
ensued, through which I could plainly distinguish the 
words, " No one in here to-night " — " never knew it to 
fail " — " children " — " horrible ! " — " the uncle's room " 
— " danger " — " uncle can't get out of bed " — " no, it's 
better here," &c. 

Just then uncle's hand-bell tingled its familiar sum- 
mons, and I hastened to his bedside. 

" Fanny," he said, " can't you make it a little lighter 
here ? I've had one of my ugly dreams ; and I want to 
be certain you're all right." 

" To be sure I am, uncle, dear," I rejoined cheerfully, 
at the same time lighting the gas near the head of his bed. 
" Is that too bright for you } " 

" No, no : leave it up — so. Now come tell me what 
you have been doing this afternoon." 

Should I tell him every thing ? No. He either would 
be distressed at his own powerlessness, or would laugh at 
my nervous fears. So I replied, at the same time placing 



MV MYSTERIOUS ENEMY. 149 

a small table near his bed, preparatory to bringing up his 
supper, — 

" Doing, uncle ? Why, I have been here with you most 
of the afternoon ; and before that I was reading a letter 
from " — 

'' Ah, I understand ! Well, it's all my own fault for ever 
letting that fellow with the buttons have a word to say to 
you. I shall have to hire some fat old nurse in a year or 
two, while you'll be sporting around with that scamp, 
— hey?" 

My only answer to this was a laughing threat to go to 
the young scamp at once, if uncle were not more respect- 
ful ; though at heart I felt quite resolved, that, married or 
single, I should never resign my self-imposed duty of 
nursing him. 

"Well, well," said uncle, "you've always been such a 
good girl I sha'n't be hard on you. See if it's time for 
my mixture." 

" No, not for an hour yet. You must take your supper 
first." 

" Very well. Don't put any butter on the toast to-night; 
and if the chicken's as tough as it was yesterday, bring up 
something else." 

" Yes, uncle." 

On my way from the dining-room with uncle's supper, I 
could not resist the temptation of taking a look into Mr. 
Foster's apartment. Resting my tray in a vacant niche at 
the head of the stairs, I turned the knob ; but the door 
would not open. It was locked, and the key had been 
taken away. Thrust partly under my own closed door, 
was a pencilled note from one of the lady-boarders, re- 
13* 



I50 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

questing, that, if my patient were well enough, I would 
pass the evening in hei' room. Well pleased at the pros- 
pect of a cheerful gossip with Mrs. Gray's delightful fam- 
ily, I resolved to avail myself of the invitation after my 
uncle had fallen into his usual slumber, and so I lost no 
time in attending to my evening duties. 

It was nearly half-past eight before I found myself in 
Mrs. Gray's parlor ; and by this time the beautiful after- 
noon had passed into a chilly, unpleasant evening. 
But we soon forgot outside darkness in the brightness 
and comfort within. 

I lingered in Mrs. Gray's aj^artment until ten o'clock. 
Then, after seeing that uncle was comfortably settled for 
the night, I sought my own room, and, carefully locking the 
door leading into the hall, began to undress. This done, 
I stood in my long night-wrapper near the gaslight, and 
began reading once more the words of my absent soldier. 
I had just come to the passage, " By the way, my dear 
Fanny," when a sudden but continuous clicking startled 
me. It might have been the sharp dropping of rain on 
the roof of the piazza beneath my opened window, or the 
ticking of the queer clock in Mr. Foster's room ; or it 
might have been caused by some leakage in the Croton 
pipes, or the creaking of the poor sick baby's cradle in 
the room above. It might, in short, have arisen from 
any of these or twenty other innocent causes ; and so I 
tried to believe. Hastily putting the letter away, I turned 
the gas entirely off (unintentionally, for that matter, but 
my hand was not steady), and sought my pillow, quite 
sure that I should not sleep a wink that night. But youth 
and health are often proof against more serious alarms 



3fV MYSTERIOUS ENEMY. 151 

than mine had been ; and I soon sank into a profound 
slumber. 

Hours afterward I awoke with a start from some trou- 
bled dream. What it had been, I could not precisely 
recall ; but I was agitated, and my brow and neck seemed 
fairly dripping with moisture. In an instant the deep 
tones of a neighboring church-clock striking " two " re- 
assured me, with its familiar, every-day sound ; and I soon 
floated off again into the land of dreams. This time the 
sleep was far less sound ; and more than once, without 
quite awaking, I instinctively drew my muslin night- 
sleeve across my forehead. It was strangely wet, 
though I could feel the cool night air stealing through the 
darkness from the open window opposite. After turning 
uneasily upon my pillow for a while, I finally sank into a 
deeper slumber once more, and must have remained un- 
conscious for nearly an hour, when suddenly I started up 
with a sense of acute pain, and, wide awake in an instant, 
became conscious that / was not alone. Else why that 
heavy thump upon the floor, and the quick rush that fol- 
lowed ? All was dark ; but I could feel that the pillow, my 
face, neck, and the shoulder and sleeves of my nightdress, 
were soaked with the strange, clammy moisture. Seized 
with a horrid suspicion, and darting from the bed in an 
agony of terror, I flew to the other side of the chamber, 
and, groping for my uncle's door, burst with a cry into his 
room. 

Dimly lighted as it was, I could see every object dis- 
tinctly as I entered; and first of all, because the long 
mirror hung directly opposite the door, and the small gas- 
jet threw its rays full upon me, I saw my own reflection in 



152 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

its bright surface. Great heavens ! I was covered with 
blood ! My hands were wet with it, wliile my cheek and 
throat were crimson with tlie streams which flowed pro- 
fusely from my temples. What could I do ? My uncle 
still slept soundly, under the effects of an opiate which 
his physicians had prescribed for him. Frantic with fear, 
I tore into the hall, flew up stairs, and would have gone 
into Mrs. Gray's room, had I not come into collision with 
my landlady at the landing-place. 

"Goodness! Miss Fanny, was it you that screamed? 
What has happened ? Hush ! " — and she drew me quickly 
into her little room. " Why your shoulder's all wet 1 
Gracious ! child, what is the matter ? Here, you're safe 
enough now : don't cry. Oh ! where are the matches ? 
I haven't had my room dark at night before, I don't know 
when. Here they are ! Hush ! you'll scare Mrs. Gray." 

By this time the room was lighted, and apparently Mrs. 
Hone was as much alarmed as myself when she saw my 
condition. She was, however, a woman of strong nerve, 
and in a moment was coolly bathing my face and neck, 
and endeavoring to stanch the blood still flowing from my 
temples. When the bleeding ceased, she lost no time in 
changing my garments, and making me as comfortable as 
possible. 

For some time I staid in the landlady's room, and we 
talked over the affair together. There was but one solu- 
tion of the matter ; and when, with a shudder, I suggested 
it to her, she answered softly, — 

" Just so. Miss Fanny : it was nothing else, depend upon 
it. Poor child ! Did you see him ! " 

" No," I whispered, " the room was dark \ but I heard 



MV MYSTERIOUS ENEMY. 1 53 

him distinctly. Oh ! Mrs. Hone, I can never sleep in that 
room again. I must leave the house to-morrow." 

" Dear, dear ! " exclaimed Mrs. Hone. " It's always 
some trouble with me, — first one thing, and then another. 
But I'm sure I can't blame you, Miss Fanny ; though, if 
you would stay, I could get somebody here to-morrow who 
told me he could soon put a stop to all such troubles. 
But I hated to have him come before, because I knew it 
would make so much talk in the house, and make the 
help saucy. Goodness knows, they're unbearable enough 
already ! " 

I felt sorry for the landlady, but in my own mind fully 
resolved to leave her roof as soon as possible. The clock 
boomed "four." 

" Oh, Mrs. Hone ! " I exclaimed, struck with a new 
fear, " I have left uncle all this time. What if — Oh, will 
you go down stairs with me ? I can't go alone ! " 

The landlady was naturally unwilling to run any further 
risk of disturbing the household, and tried to persuade me 
not to go, but I was resolute. 

The dear old man lay there safely enough when we 
entered his room ; but his sleep was heavy, — too heavy, 
and his brow was burning hot. The next day he was 
worse ; and when I asked the physician concerning him, 
the reply was, — 

"• Oh ! it's nothing very serious. Perfect quiet for a 
week or two, and careful nursing, are all that will be 
necessary." 

So there, of course, was an end for the present of my 
plan to leave the house. But I did not attempt to sleep 
in my apartment again, or even to undress at all. For 



154 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

four nights I staid in the sick-chamber, resting only in a 
large armchair, or perhaps indulging in a brief repose 
upon the lounge. On the fifth day uncle was so much 
better, that, unconscious of all that had happened, he 
insisted upon my retiring to my own room and seeking 
rest. Willing to relieve his anxiety, and being really very 
much exhausted from continued watching, I obeyed ; and 
in a few moments was comfortably reclining on a sofa 
which stood near the window across the corner of my 
room. 

That pleasant sunny room ! How different its appear- 
ance was now from what it had been less than a week 
ago ! Then all was order and neatness ; and the mantle, 
toilet-tabte, and walls had been decked with various taste- 
ful articles and engravings, brackets and images. Now 
the walls were bare, and the pictures stood on the floor, 
ready to be taken away as soon as uncle should be able 
to leave the house (for I felt confident I could per- 
suade him to go), and the little knick-knacks and souve- 
nirs were already stowed away in trunks. The curtains 
were drawn tastelessly back by Betty's ruthless hand ; 
and on the furniture lingered a peculiar bloom, — neither 
cleanliness nor dirt, — left by the housemaid's duster. 
To add to the air of discomfort, in one corner stood a pile 
of trunks (which had been noiselessly packed while uncle 
slept) ; and in another, lay portions of a dismembered 
bedstead and a quantity of bedding, which the landlady 
had asked permission to leave there, " being as the room 
wasn't used." 

All these things were duly noted as I lay there, vainly 
courting the sleep which I so much needed. I could 



MV MYSTERIOUS ENEMY. 1 55 

hear my uncle's heavy breathing in the next room, and the 
occasional passing of footsteps along the hall, as the 
boarders came straggling up from dinner. It was no 
feverish dream then that possessed me, when there, in the 
broad daylight, I saw the detested creature who had 
attacked me in the dead of night, and the traces of whose 
diabolical work were still upon my temple, cautiously 
enter my room, and gliding slowly and stealthily along, 
close up to the very wainscot, actually secrete himself 
under the bedding in the corner ! 

Goaded to desperation, I leaped from the couch, and, 
scarce conscious of what I was doing, flew to the spot, 
and seizing a small bedpost which lay there, beat with all 
my might upon the place where I believed his head and 
breast to be ! No sound escaped him, but from the first 
stroke I felt that he was in my power. Blow after blow 
fell ; for I had the strength of a maniac, and I dared not 
stop. By this time my cries were heard, and the landlady 
and several of the boarders rushed into the room. They 
forced me into a seat, and lifted the bedding from the 
floor. There he lay, motionless ; they turned him over : 
he was dead — stone dead — and by my hand ! 

" By Jove ! " exclaimed Mr. Williams, the strong young 
man from the fourth story, as he lifted my victim from 
the floor, " he is dead, big as he is. How did you ever 
find courage to kill him ? " 

" I'm sure I hardly know," I gasped, " except that I 
was desperate. He has tormented me almost to death 
for two or three weeks past, and last Saturday night he 
actually did come near killing me in earnest." 

" How ? how ? " cried ever}^body but the landlady, 
crowding more closely. 



156 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

The good lady winked prodigiously at me just then, 
and tried to change the subject ; but I was too excited to 
heed her. Turning with a shudder from the lifeless cause 
of my past miseries, I explained how I had felt a natural 
antipathy to him from the first moment I had encoun- 
tered him in the hall at Mrs. Hone's ; how terrified I had 
been when I saw him pass through the reception-parlor 
where I sat conversing with a gentleman ; how I had heard 
and seen him several times since ; how he actually had 
dragged a letter from my room out into the hall ; and, 
above all, how he had bitten my temple on that fearful 
night. I had just raised the hair carefully from my brow 
to show my audience the still unhealed traces of those 
cruel teeth, when Biddy, the chamber-maid, came bustling 
in. The moment she saw the lifeless body she shrieked, — 

"Who killed him? Not you, Miss Fanny! I'd have 
been skeered to death. I'm glad he's dead, any how. I 
told you, ma'am," she added, turning to Mrs. Hone, 
" twa'n't no use tryin' to pizen him. We couldn't have 
had no peace or comfort after it. Then all his relations 
would be comin' to the funeral ; and " — 

" Hold your tongue ! " exclaimed Mrs. Hone angrily. 

Thus tenderly admonished, Biddy subsided, only mur- 
muring under her breath, that — " Massy on us ! — peo- 
ple's lives hadn't been safe with a critter like that runnin' 
round ; " and finally uttering a piercing shriek as the 
strong young man lifted IT from the floor. 

At that moment Mrs. Hone's son, Fred, burst into the 
room. He stopped for a moment, surveying the strange 
tableau. There was I, flushed with the excitement of my 
exploit ; Biddy, angry at being checked in her voluble 



MV MYSTERIOUS ENEMY. 1 5/ 

exclamations, and shrinking from the corpse ; Mrs. Hone, 
severe in her dignity as head of the house, glad that the 
dreadful creature was destroyed, yet anxious to prevent 
any talk among her boarders ; and Mr. Williams holding 
up the dead body so that all could see it. 

Master Fred, who, being six years my junior, was my 
sworn admirer, and hated my mysterious foe as much as I 
did, took in the whole affair at a glance. 

" You've killed him, Miss Fanny, have you ? " he ex- 
claimed. " Bully for you ! He's the biggest fellow I 
ever saw ! ' A rat, dead for a ducat, dead ! ' " he added, 
imitating as nearly as he could the tone and attitude of 
Edwin Booth, whom he had seen the evening before in 
Hamlet, pointing at the dead body of the huge rat whom 
I had just killed, which Mr. Williams was handing to the 
shrinking Biddy to be duly disposed of. 

Possibly the reader of this narrative may, like my Lord 
Hamlet, have taken this slaughtered rat for " his better." 
If so, he has read with his imagination instead of his 
eyes : " a bad habit ; I pray you avoid it." 

I have only to add here, that '' My Mysterious Enemy " 
was the first and the last of his kind that ever succeeded 
in penetrating into the immaculate mansion of Mrs. 
Hone. 

H 



What A Little Song 

CAN DO. 

A TRUE INCIDENT. 




GAY young visitor said to me the other day: 

" M , do you remember that Httle English girl, 

who made dresses for me last summer ? " 

" Yes," I replied : " she usually worked by the corner 
window of your sitting-room ; a delicate, fair-haired girl, 
wasn't she ? seemed to be a rapid sewer, — what of her ? " 

" Why, I heard her story lately, a terrible story ; and do 
you know, it seems so strange to think that during all 
those days, when she used to sit and sew for me, I never 
once thought of her as an individual ? " 

" What do you mean ? " 

" I mean just what I say. She never appeared to me 
in the light of an individual. She was just the dress- 
maker ; and whenever I thought of her, it was only in 
connection with fashions and mantua-making. I remem- 
ber noticing, sometimes, that the sunshine fell brightly 
upon her head as she sat sewing, and that she had a shy, 
trembling way with her. But it never occurred to me that 
she had interests apart from her work, — personal affairs 
158 



WHAT A LITTLE SONG CAN DO. 1 59 

you know, such as you and I have. It's a^vful to say it, 
but it's really true : I don't believe it ever crossed my mind 
that she cared for any thing but making dresses. And 
oh ! such a terrible life as that poor girl endured ! She's 
dead now ; and I'm glad of it, poor thing. Good-by ! " 

" Wait a moment, Lu ! " I cried : " what a strange child 
you are ! You surely will not go without telling me more ? " 

" Yes, I must. It's time for my music-lesson. Good- 
by, dear : I'll come again soon ; " and off she ran, lightly 
humming a tune as she hastened down the stairway. 

I have not seen her since, or I should, perhaps, be able 
to tell you the poor sewing-girl's story. But I can relate 
an incident that came vividly to my mind, even before the 
sound of Lu's light, receding footsteps had died away. 

One lovely day, in the spring of 187-, I made a start- 
ling discovery. Just when the fields were putting on their 
brightest green, and the fruit-trees were wreathing them- 
selves with blossoms, I suddenly became aware that I 
needed raiment. All my last year's stock seemed shabby 
in contrast with the vernal freshness of things. In short, 
as my friend Helen Fitz tenderly hinted, there was noth- 
ing left me but either to look like a fright or to get some 
new dresses. 

Then arose a new trouble : the mantua-makers were in 
the height of their busy season. Not one could I find 
who would take in another order. What was I to do ? 
The Flora McFlimsy within me grew faint. If I should 
make the dress myself, it wouldn't have a particle of style. 
So my best friends assured me, with a mysterious shudder 
which made me feel only too thankful that my humble 
aspiration had been nipped in the bud. 



l6o THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

(All this time Nature was laughing with her blossoms, 
and slipping so softly and easily into her new spring 
dress !) 

Well, the only plan open to me was to employ a visit- 
ing mantua-maker. After what seemed, at the time, an 
endless succession of vexations and disappointments, I 
succeeded in hearing of that rara avis, — a dressmaker 
who not only could but would make a dress, — a visiting 
dressmaker, and a " perfect treasure " as Helen declared, 
such a " good hand at conjuring," could " fit " admirably : 
her only fault was that she was slow. If I could stand 
that, Mrs. Bond was the very person I wanted ; and, won- 
derful to relate, she had a few disengaged days. So I 
sent a messenger, and received word in return that she 
would be with me early on Monday morning. 

Was I satisfied then.? Not quite. A strange unrest 
came over me ; an unrest that increased as the interval 
of waiting diminished. 

To make this thing clear, I must confess that I am of a 
peculiar temperament. Employees of all kinds hold a 
mysterious power over me. I shrink from my waiter-girl, 
and feel condemned in the presence of my cook. Some- 
times I am almost tempted to say, " Excuse me, Ann ; 
forgive me, Kitty. It's not entirely my fault that some 
must work while others play. I know you are far more 
clever at washing windows, ironing, and cooking than I 
should be,. I never, in the world, could 'wait' at table, 
or answer the door-bell as patiently and cheerfully as you. 
I'm afraid I shouldn't have the fortitude to rise before 
daylight, on snowy winter mornings, and attend early mass 
before commencing a hard day's work. I'm not sure that 



WHAT A LITTLE SONG CAN DO. l6l 

I could deny myself as you do, in order to send money 
across the water to bring my cousins over. In short, Ann 
and Kitty, if life seems hard to you, if my kitchen is 
dreary, and my visitors too many, forgive me, bear with 
me. You might, either of you, have been a poor, helpless 
lady yourself, you know." 

The same feeling comes when with those who, higher 
in the social scale, still serve me ; for all mankind are, 
after all, servants in some sense. I always submit my 
pulse deprecatingly to my physician, fearful lest my case 
be too unimportant for so august a personage ; wonder 
what I should do if I had to consult a lawyer ; and in 
church I sometimes feel so crestfallen and ashamed, that, 
if the sexton were not so very like the Lord Chamberlain 
in suppressed greatness and noiseless sublimity, I would, 
during the service, ask him to step up to the pulpit, and 
tell Dr. Blast, that, if my particular case of sinfulness 
aggravated him, I would willingly get up and go home. 

Even shopmen are formidable creatures in my eyes. 
When at Stewart's, I never can throw off the impression 
that the clerk who is waiting upon me owns the entire 
establishment. But all this is nothing to the appalling 
influence of fashionable milliners and dressmakers. Only 
the thought of the lilies of the field can sustain me when 
in their presence. 

What wonder, then, that I dreaded this particular Mon- 
day ? It came, all the same, however ; and when, just 
before breakfast, the door-bell rang, Ann, who answered 
the summons, was a grander, lighter-hearted young woman 
than her mistress, who stood in an upper room bracing 
herself to meet the coming presence. 
14* 



1 62 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

In a moment Ann came up, saying mysteriously, " She's 
down-stairs, mum, and she's had her breakfast. My ! but 
she's the quare-looking old crayture, though ! " 

" Show her up, Ann," 

She entered, — a quiet-looking, mild old woman of 
seventy ! 

I had not expected this. Fancy had conjured a dressy, 
fussy young person, with a manner as quick and snipping 
as her scissors, and a roll of fashion-plates in her hand, 
— somebody with an iron will, who knew the exact size 
that a lady's waist ought to be, lungs or no lungs. 

But this quiet, sober old body, clad in dingy black, how 
could I ask her to make up my finery ? 

" Good-morning. Is this Mrs. Bond ? " I asked, half 
hoping that it was not. 

" I believe it is," she answered, with a pleasant smile, 
taking off her shawl and bonnet as she spoke, and ad- 
justing her spectacles carefully, so as not to tear her 
simple white cap. " Shall I sit here, ma'am ? " 

" Oh, yes, certainly ! " and somehow, before I knew it, 
the old lady was cutting out a lining, and I was up-stairs 
again (after having taken a hasty breakfast), and seated 
near her, running up the breadths of a skirt, every thing 
just as easy and natural as possible. 

Yes, she was slow ; but I think it was because she took 
so much interest in her work that she rather lingered over 
it. It was wonderful to see how she would turn a refrac- 
tory bit of goods this way and that, until at last it would 
fit in exactly where it was needed ; wonderful to see her 
stitch, stitch, in such a steady, resolute way, and all the 
time with that placid expression on her face, her wrinkled 



WHAT A LITTLE SOA'G CAN DO. 163 

little mouth pursed up, and her gray eyebrows arching 
mildly over her spectacles. 

About eleven o'clock in the forenoon, without looking 

up from her work, she said, " Mrs. D , would it be 

asking too much if I wanted a cup of tea at lunch-time .? 
It keeps me awake for the afternoon, and I can do better 
justice to the work." 

Awake for the afternoon ! Poor old soul ! 

" Certainly ! not at all ! " I exclaimed, in a startled way. 
"We always have tea at luncheon ; but, whether or not, 
you should have it and welcome. Why not lie down a 
while, though ? Please do. Rest yourself, now, on that 
lounge." 

" Oh ! no, no, indeed ! thank you ! " and she laughed, 
a quiet, sober little laugh, with a tear in it. " The tea'll 
keep me up now, ma'am," she added cheerily : " if you'll 
please get ready to try on, I'll be through in a minute." 

She staid with me for three days, working steadily and 
slowly all the time, kept awake by the tea, and resolutely 
resisting my entreaties that she should take an occasional 
nap. One peculiarity puzzled me. On several occasions, 
when, after a brief absence, I entered the room, I saw her 
quietly slip something into a little covered basket, which 
sat on the floor beside her, and resume her work as I 
approached. Otherwise, she sewed as steadily as though 
she were moved by slow machinery. 

But if Ann and Kitty awoke apologetic emotions within 
me, how much more this patient, silver-haired old lady. 
I could scarcely bear to see her working for me ; and it 
was only by planning various trifling benefits for her that 
I could feel in any way reconciled to it. She was so old, 



l64 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

poor soul ! and yet she so firmly thrust away the infirmi- 
ties of age, as if saying constantly to herself, "That's 
right — back, keep straight ; eyes, keep strong ; fingers, 
keep nimble, for I have this dress to make." 

Ah ! if trouble were to come upon her, I thought, a real, 
heart-rending sorrow, she could not be like this. For it so 
happened that I had one great trial to bear, and I knew 
what important allies were youth and strength. But I did 
not understand her yet. 

On the third day — I hardly can say how it came about 
— she told me the story of her life, or rather it seemed to 
slip from her as the work slipped through her fingers ; 
and what a life it was ! Trial upon trial, sorrow upon 
sorrow ; prosperity at first, then misfortune and poverty ; 
then sixteen years of married life, and three or four little 
graves ; sickness ; the prop of the home smitten down, a 
helpless invalid ; then widowhood, with four children to 
support and educate ; next, one of the children a hopeless 
cripple — labor, ceaseless labor; then sorrow and trouble 
in a married daughter's misfortune ; then her two daugh- 
ters widowed and in delicate health, and with several 
young children, all upon her hands, she their only help and 
refuge ! Her youngest, an only son, she had bravely edu- 
cated through it all. He had finally joined the Union 
army, without a word of opposition from her. At that 
very moment he might be lying wounded on the battle- 
field, or his bones might be gathered in some nameless 
grave, for she had not heard from him for months. And 
there had I been consulting with her about my sleeves ! 
' " And you support them all, — children and grandchil- 
dren ? " I asked, making believe to search for a spool of 
cotton, for I felt too fidgety to sew. 



WHAT A LITTLE SONG CAN DO. 1 65 

" Yes, deary, mostly " (she had given me this name on 
the second day). " Annie's laid up with her side most of 
the time ; and what with grieving, and taking charge of 
the little ones while I'm off workin ', poor Esther don't 
earn much, though she's a fur-maker by trade. Now, 
ma'am, I'm ready for this shoulder again." 

(How blithely she spoke ! I had been rather low- 
spirited of late, — I with my one illumined sorrow, she 
with her load of crowding cares) ! As soon as the shoul- 
der was arranged, I went into the entry to speak with 
Kitty concerning dinner. When I re-opened the door I 
saw that mysterious movement again. My dressmaker 
was slipping something into her basket. 

"Oh!" she said, with a slight jump, "what a little 
thing starts me ! I was just reading my little song." 

" Your little song ? " 

" Yes : it's a bit of writing I've had four or five years, the 
greatest comfort of my life ; almost," and she lowered her 
voice, " like my Bible. It kept me up when I do believe 
nothing else would." 

She said this in such a cheery way, while picking out 
the basting-threads, that I hardly knew how to reply. But 
at last I said, stupidly enough, — 

" Don't you ever get sick, Mrs. Bond ? " 

" No, not often ; leastwise, not enough to make me lose 
my day. Thank you, deary, I'll go on with that sleeve if 
you hain't finished it, and you can take up the cording." 

" It's wonderful," I said, tacitly following her direction, 
" really wonderful, to think of your supporting all your 
family so, and on two dollars a day." 

" Sometimes I do wonder," she said quietly, " how I do 



1 66 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

it ; but God helps us, and then, you know, I have my Httle 
song. I'll take them black hooks, please." 

We sat silently working for a few moments. At last I 
said, softly and reverently, — 

•' Mrs. Bond, will you teach me your little song ? " 

She looked up with a surprised — " What, deary ? " 

" That little song you were speaking of. It would do 
me good, too, I am sure. Will you teach it to me ? " 

" You, child ! You don't need it, — young, bright, and 
happy. It's only for tired old bodies like me." 

"Ah ! but perhaps I do," I persisted : "life is very vex- 
ing to me sometimes." 

She bent down, and, lifting her little basket, slowly 
raised the lid, then took out a folded piece of paper, worn 
and dingy. She opened it tenderly as she handed it to 
me. 

" This is my little song, deary. I know all it says ; but 
it always helps me to read it, especially when things comes 
into my mind that oughtn't too." 

I had expected to find one of the sweet old hymns that 
tell of comfort and joy to come, as a reward for sorrow 
suffered here. But the verses that I saw surprised me. 

" Where did you find this poem ? " I asked. 

" I didn't find it. The Lord sent it to me sort of mys- 
terious. A young girl read it out once in a room where I 
was sewing; and when I had a chance, I asked her to write 
it down for me. I don't take to such things, gen'rally ; 
but this song is kind o' by itself." 

And so it was. For the poem was Adelaide Procter's 
" One by One." 

" I have a whole book of verses written by the same 



WHAT A LITTLE SONG CAN DO. 167 

lady," I said, still looking at the paper : " shall I bring 
it, and read you a few of them ? " 

" No, deary, I thank you kindly ; but most like I 
wouldn't understand 'em. This little song'll last me out 
well enough. As you're looking at it, deary, would you 
mind saying it for me out loud ? " 

For the first time during our conversation, she laid down 
her work, and leaned back in her chair, while I read in a 
voice that tried not to tremble : — 

" One by one the sands are flowing, 
One by one the moments fall ; 
Some are coming, some are going, 
Do not strive to grasp them all. 

" One by one thy duties wait thee, 

Let thy whole strength go to each ; 
Let no future dreams elate thee, 
Learn thou first what these can teach. 

" One by one (bright gifts from heaven), » 

Joys are sent thee here below ; 
Take them readily when given, 
Ready, too, to let them go. 

" One by one thy griefs shall meet thee, 
Do not fear an armed band ; 
One will fade as others greet thee, 
Shadows passing through the land. 

" Do not look at life's long sorrow ; 

See how small each moment's pain ; 
God will help thee for to-morrow, 
So each day begin again. 

" Every hour that fleets so slowly 
Has its task to do or bear ; 
Luminous the crown and holy, 
If thou set each gem with care. 



1 68 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

" Do not linger with regretting, 
Or for passing hours despond ; 
Nor, the daily toil forgetting, 
Look too eagerly beyond. 

" Hours are golden links, God's token, 
Reaching heaven ; but one by one 
Take them, lest the chain be broken 
Ere the pilgrimage be done.'' 

I looked up. Mrs. Bond was busily sewing, her " whole 
strength" going to the present duty, her little wrinkled 
mouth pursed intently as usual, her gray eyebrows arched 
mildly above her spectacles, and her sweet old face more 
placid than ever. 

Adelaide Procter is with the angels now. The tumult 
of this busy world shall never more disturb her. But she 
is a gladder, more blessed angel, we may be sure, when- 
ever that dear old woman reads her little song. 



The Spirit of the Water- 
fall. 




A HUSBAND S STORY. 



LLA M'FLIMSEY was cousin to the world- 
renowned Flora, but she was a better girl. Fair, 
stylish, coquettish, with bewitching blue eyes, 
^nd hair of the fashionable golden hue, she was the pride 
and glory of our set. I had gazed upon her, given her 
smile for smile, and more ; had attended her through 
scores of " Germans," and gone to paradise with her on 
the wings of the Redowa. Her very fans and gloves were 
daguerrotyped on my soul. Yet, looking back, I cannot 
remember that I had ever heard her seriously give an 
opinion, or utter even a sentiment to reveal of what 
manner of woman she was. As for her daily life, all that 
could be known to me was that she flourished in the " best 
circles," and in every way comported herself as became 
an unmurmuring child of fashion. I, a busy bee all day 
and a butterfly at evening, found my flower under the gas- 
light ; and, under the gaslight I hovered about her, en- 
chanted, yet not quite satisfied. Some ruthless spell 

169 



I/O THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

seemed to hang over her beauty. Face and form were 
perfect. Her hair, too, ah, how lovely it was ! and yet, 
even in its sunny meshes the demon of — shall I say it? — 
of ugliness seemed to lurk. " Sunny meshes " hardly 
describes it — ah, sunny maze ! Yes, a sunny maze over 
her temples ; and beyond that — ? But it was beautiful 
hair — that I said to myself a hundred times. What, 
then, was the mystery? Something within me recoiled 
even while I admired most ardently ; and she, poor child ! 
seeing my waywardness, wondered (I knew it in spite of 
her well-trained, beautiful eyes) — wondered and grew 
serious — between dances. 

Alas ! we knew not the direful spell that had been cast 
upon us ! But the end came at last. Now that all is 
over, I am vexed that I did not in some way take trouble 
by the forelock, and grapple with it single-handed. But I 
have said I wooed as a butterfly flits about a flower. 
Do butterflies think ? When an ugly blight threatens a 
peerless blossom, what can her Papilio do but hover 
wretchedly overhead ? 

One stormy December night (she has told me all about 
it since) my poor Ella, returning from a brilliant " recep- 
tion," sought her chamber puzzled and unhappy. Almost 
in tears, she flung jewel after jewel upon her dressing- 
table, jerked the drooping flowers from her hair, and 
loosed the glittering zone, which, it had seemed to me, 
was all that kept the gauzy clouds trailing about her from 
floating away into the* air. Then came more arduous 
toilet undoings ; there were curls — two long, golden, 
beautiful curls — then braids — then a golden mass of 
wealth, and then the maze ! But why speak of these. She 



SPIRIT OF THE WATERFALL. I/I 

was sad — she, my matchless flower, my pearl ! Ah ! if I 
could have seen her then, seen her earnest, but an instant, 
perhaps — but no. The spell was not yet broken. 

It had been a brilliant evening. Even Cousin Flora 
had pronounced the affair "faultless." The Harrises, the 
Van Doodles, everybody in town, — that is, everybody 
worth knowing, — had been present ; and Ella had stood 
acknowledged belle of the hour. But it had been the 
same, or nearly the same, every night for weeks and 
weeks. She was weary. It may be her soul was asking 
" Is it well ? " I had been hovering near her, as usual, 
fascinated, yet secretly dissatisfied ; and she, in some 
strange way, had felt slighted and distressed, though she 
must have known that at least a dozen among those who 
looked upon her were longing to cast their fate and 
fortune at her feet. Ah ! it is a cruel problem this of life. 
It should know better than to force itself upon a gay, sin- 
less girl. With a sigh, Ella, after dimming the gaslight, 
put on a long, soft robe of wadded cashmere, and cast 
herself in a big armchair by the fire. Dear little blossom ! 
Did the great senseless thing know what it held, I wonder? 

How plainly I can see her sitting there, in the flickering 
firelight, with that new sadness on her face. The lofty 
room, with its curtains, its frescoed panels, its carvings of 
dull, dark wood, its dainty work-stand rarely used, its 
costly rack of books never opened, its delicate traceries 
of gold, its soft, harmonious colors, its toilet-table (a mar- 
vel of lace with rosy draperies blushing through), — all 
these were quite familiar to me ; for the apartment had 
sometimes done duty as " the gentlemen's dressing-room," 
and afterward that very armchair became — Eut I must 
not anticipate. 



172 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

How long Ella's reverie continued she cannot remem- 
ber. It was broken at last by a sharp sense of dread. 
Her eyes had been fixed upon the toilet-table. Fascinated 
by its cloud-like canopy and curtain, where pink and 
white seemed floating together in airy softness, with here 
and there a bright gleam from the fire deepening its hue, 
she had wondered whether the effect might not be some- 
thing like the " early dawn " that travellers talk about, 

— when suddenly its curtain was stirred ! 

What could it mean ? There was not space enough 
under there for a robber to stow himself. Her pet spaniel 
she knew was already sound asleep in the housekeeper's 
room. Cats and kittens were forbidden the house ; but it 
might possibly be that some vagrant puss had stolen in 
during the day. 

Even this solution almost paralyzed her with fear. 
After all, it might be merely fancy. 

With a half-smile at her weakness, she sat upright, and 
looked steadily at the offending drapery. It stirred again 

— not feebly this time ; but with a quick, resolute move- 
ment — stirred and parted ! 

A bouncing little figure stepped forth. 

" Blaze up. Fire ! " said the little figure, " and let the 
lady see me." 

Instantly the fire sent out frisky jets of flame. 

" That's right," said the figure jauntily. " Now, am I 
not a beauty ? " 

A beauty ? It was the ugliest of all ugly gnomes, gob- 
lins, or whatever one might choose to call it. It was 
short, stumpy, of a dingy brown, and made entirely of 
juatted hair I Even its arms were of the same material : 



SPIRIT OF THE WATERFALL. 1 73 

and its eyes were formed of rings of white and black 
hair, with tlie light of a golden curl shining through them. 

" Who are you ? " gasped my poor girl, ready to faint. 

" Who am I ? " pertly replied the figure : " why, one of 
your friends to be sure. My name is Sheniona. I'm the 
Spirit of the Waterfall ! " 

" Oh, oh ! Go away ! " shrieked Ella. 

" All in good time, my dear," said the visitor coaxingly ; 
" all in good time. Now, don^t be frightened in that foolish 
way. I'm sure I expected a different reception from you. 
But never mind that. Business is business, you know. 
If I hadn't had business I would have staid away — 
though, really, who would have dreamed that you could 
hate me so, seeing that " — and Sheniona nodded signifi- 
cantly toward the toilet-table. 

Ella was gradually becoming less alarmed : there was 
a saucy, friendly air about the Spirit, that was rather win- 
ning after all ; so she ventured to ask timidly, — 

" What business ? " 

"Well, my dear, business of rather an embarrassing 
nature, if you must know. (Brighten up. Fire !) The 
fact is, though I seem such a plucky, self-reliant Spirit, I 
am really somewhat dependent upon others. In short, if 
it were not for others, I couldn't be the beauty that I often 
am. (Now, Fire, don't be lazy !) I'm Queen of them all, 
and they know it. Every one bows to the Spirit of the 
Waterfall. But you see, my dear, sometimes those who 
have been forced unconsciously to help me get to be a 
little troublesome : they come again and again, pestering 
me and asking for ' their own,' as they call it. Even when 
I haven't used 'em a bit they keep whining out, ' It's all 
IS* 



174 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

your fault — all your fault ! ' till I'm most dead. It's 
enough to put me all out of tangle — it really is ; " and 
the Spirit struck a despondent attitude. 

" Well } " asked Ella, longing to make a rush for the 
door, and yet not daring to stir, " what's all this to me ? " 

The Spirit laughed a quick, fuzzy little laugh. 

" What's it to you ? Well, if that isn't foo much ! Why, 
it's every thing to you (Fire, don't go to sleep, please) 
— every thing to you just now, I mean. The fact is, 
you've got something that don't belong to you, and the 
owners want it. 

" I ? " faltered Ella, " I ? " 

"Yes, you," answered Sheniona, with an encouraging 
nod. " Now, don't be so nervous. Brush up ; do ! I've 
no idea of calling you a thief. Neither have they. Of 
course you haven't intended to do any thing wrong. But 
they want ' their own.' They've been at me ever so 
long about it ; and at last I thought I'd just lay the matter 
before you. What do you say ? " 

" What do I say ? Oh, yes ! take it, good Sheniona, 
whatever it is, and go home." 

" Home ! " echoed Sheniona scornfully, but in a 
smothered tone, " what do I want of a home ? Jfy object 
is to make headway in the world ; but that's nothing here 
nor there. Besides / can't take it. They must help 
themselves. What do you say, — yes, or no ? " 

" Oh, dear ! y-yes," answered Ella, closing her eyes. 

" Very well. That's something like. Now, good people, 
you may come. Fire ! " 

This last ejaculation was not a military order to the 
" good people," but was addressed in a warning " aside " 



SPIRIT OF 7 HE WATERFALL. 1 75 

to the members from Liverpool. Accordingly the room 
grew light in a twinkling. 

Ella tried to keep her eyes shut, but they opened in 
spite of her. In every corner of the apartment she saw 
women ; not exactly ghostly women, — though they could 
not have been mortal, since neither door nor window had 
opened to admit them, — but women very different from 
those whom she was in the habit of seeing ; and every 
one of them was looking reproachfully at her. 

"Now," commanded Sheniona, in an injured tone, at 
the same time collecting something from the toilet-table, 
and throwing it into Ella's lap, " now come and claim 
your own." 

Ella trembled. As the women slowly approached, she 
noticed that they made no sound as they walked, and that 
the heads of nearly all of them were closely cropped. 
They gathered in silent groups about her, casting eager 
glances upon what she held on her lap. She tried to rise, 
and throw the coveted things upon the floor ; but she was 
powerless. 

Suddenly one of the women, a worn, dark-browed crea- 
ture, came close to her, and, bending, snatched one of the 
articles. It was a curl ( yes, one of the very curls that I 
had seen drooping upon Ella's bosom that evening !). 

" This is mine ! " she cried fiercely. 

" Yours I " sneered Sheniona, " what did you ever do 
with that, you old raven ? " 

" I'll tell you what I did with it. I held it to my heart 
a thousand times with the only thing I loved on earth. I 
kissed it night and day. I stroked it on my poor, toil- 
stiffened fingers until some of its gold seemed to light up 



176 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

my soul. It was like a chain leading me to heaven. 
But harder times came. I couldn't get any work. I sold 
clothes, furniture, every thing I had, to keep her, my little 
one, from starving, — every thing went but my wedding- 
ring and her hair. The wedding-ring went first ; then her 
beautiful curls, — yes, I curled them even when we were 
crying with hunger, — but it was all of no use. She died. 
But she's not starving now — thank God for that ! Not 
cold either ; but I can't find her — I can't see her. She 
went where I can't go yet. But I know this is one of 
her curls, and I imist have it. That other one isn't mine. 
Where are the rest ? " turning fiercely to Sheniona. 

" Never mind now about the rest, my good woman. 
They're not here, that's plain. Begone ! " 

The woman, pressing the curl to her lips, moved away, 
and Ella saw her no more. 

" Who does the other curl belong to ? " cried Sheniona. 
" Move quickly now. Don't be all night about it." 

At these words four young girls stepped forward. One 
of them lifted the curl ; and, without a word, they began 
rapidly to untwist it. Each with busy fingers drew out 
strand after strand ; and when it was all divided they 
vanished with their treasure. 

" Humph ! " exclaimed Sheniona, " if that's all, you'll 
be bothering me a good while before you can recover your 
headfuls. (A plague to these fellows with their * sorting ' 
and 'lengthening,' and so scattering one lot of hair to 
every corner of the earth ! ) Ah, you thief ! " 

Ella looked up quickly. 

" No, not you. I'm speaking to that thing who just 
grabbed a braid. She's a thief and a murderer." 



SPIRIT OF THE WATERFALL. 177 

" I know it," sullenly retorted a woman who now stood 
pulling and shaking out the braid. " I was as bad as the 
worst. Why not .'' Who had any mercy for me ? They 
cut off my hair in prison. Yes, a thief and a murderer. 
But who was any better ? They murdered me on a scaf- 
fold ; and they stole my hair. It was the only bright 
thing I ever had. " It's mine, and I want it ! " 

"Well, well, not so much noise, old jail-bird. Who 
says you can't have it ? " 

" She's said it ! " retorted the woman, looking savagely 
at Ella. " She's claimed it for her own, and you wouldn't 
let me come. Haven't I seen her many a time, here, in 
this very room, smooth it and braid it as if God had given 
it to her. Yes ; and haven't I seen her carrying it about 
in gay ball-rooms, among splendid ladies and gentlemen, 
with their flowers and jewels and scents, — the very hair 
that I used to trail in the dust ? Yes ; and didn't she 
twine it with pearl, and didn't I see a man who danced 
with her put a white rose-bud in it once, ha ! ha ! and " — 

" Oh, oh ! Stop her, Sheniona," cried Ella — " stop 
her, or I shall go mad ! " 

The woman, scornfully acknowledging a signal from the 
Spirit of the Waterfall, vanished with angry mutterings. 

" Mad ! " echoed a voice ; " I did go mad, raving mad, 
and they cut off my locks, — ' sunny locks,' he used to 
call them. But that was when I lived on earth. I'm not 
mad now, and " — seizing another braid from Ella's lap, 
— "I want my hair." 

" Not mad now, eh ? " said the Spirit of the Waterfall. 
" Any one would think, from the way you act, that you 
were stark, staring mad." 



178 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

" It's the sight of the hair does it," returned the other 
mournfully, and in a gentler tone. " The hair was what 
he always praised most." 

"Who was heV asked Sheniona with some interest. 
" Was he a barber ? " 

"No, indeed," said the girl: "he was a soldier, as 
handsome and brave a soldier as ever breathed — noble 
and good too ; but you can't understand any thing about 
that." 

" That's because I'm all in a snarl, perhaps," assented 
Sheniona ironically. 

" But you can," turning to Ella. " He was so noble 
and good ; and when the word came that he was lying 
dead on the field, — lying all mangled and trodden, — I 
couldn't stand it. I thought I should never, never see 
him again. I know better now. But this hair is his be- 
cause he liked it. I couldn't rest while I knew it was 
being carried about by others in the bustling world. I 
died soon after they took it. Why couldn't they lay it in 
my grave where it belonged ? Ah ! if you knew all, my 
pretty lady, you would have perished sooner than have 
carried my poor hair into gay houses." 

"Yes, yes," sobbed Ella. "O Sheniona! I've been so 
wicked, so dreadfully wicked ; but it's all your fault." 

"Oh, certainly, of course ! " returned Sheniona. "You're 
just like all the rest. Now, ladies, if you'll be kind enough 
to divide the waterfall, and each take ' your own,' we can 
be gone. (Come, Fire, a little brighter ! ) " 

The Fire obeyed. Instantly the girl who had been a 
maniac vanished ; the rest of the women seized the golden 
waterfall from Ella's unresisting hands, and with many 



SPIRIT OF THE WATERFALL. 1 79 

struggles, exclamations, sighs, and sobs, began to tear it 
to pieces, and pick out "their own," hair by hair. 

What strange-looking creatures they were, and dressed 
in what motley variety of costume ! Some of them had 
long, wavy tresses, that had grown out since they had 
been shorn of their wealth ; but most of them were closely 
cropped, and had a weird, restless look. There were 
pretty, blue-eyed Bohemian girls among them, dressed in 
picturesque attire ; heavy Dutch lasses with great wooden 
shoes, that now made a strange, unearthly clatter : Swiss 
women with freckled faces and high caps ; and two Swed- 
ish sisters, who stamped their ghostly feet indignantly to 
think how their bright locks had been boiled and twisted 
and baked. 

Some seemed to have died, and others were the spirits 
of the living ; but one and all were equally eager. Dur- 
ing their rapid work they cast reproachful words or bits of 
personal history at Sheniona, and sometimes addressed 
themselves to Ella, who, with clasped hands and tearful 
eyes, sat wondering — a throng of new thoughts and reso- 
lutions rushing into her soul. Some told how their hair 
had been taken off in illness ; some how they had been 
forced to part with theirs through poverty ; some told tales 
that brought a burning flush to Ella's cheek ; and others 
confessed that when they were working in the fields or at 
household duties, the hair-peddlers came along, shears in 
hand, and induced them to allow their tresses to be cut 
off in exchange for tawdry trinkets. Nearly all had some- 
thing to say ; and Ella vaguely wondered that their 
voices seemed so lifelike and natural. If she had but 
thought of the potent influence of Sheniona, she would 



l8o THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

have wondered less. Under the spell of the SjDirit of the 
Waterfall, all things seem real. 

One of the Dutch girls turned angrily toward Sheniona. 

" What does this mean ? I find only four hairs." 

" It means that only four hairs of all your headful were 
fit to put with this lot," was the answer. " It was nearly 
all turned to flax. How did you fade yourself out so ? " 

"Ah!" said the jufvrouw, " my hair had a poor chance. 
I couldn't wear caps all the time ; but I had one for Ker- 
mis-days. What, with tending geese, and working on the 
polders, and picking hemp for the mills, there wasn't much 
to save my good looks. Blazing sun and high winds, and 
the heavy breath of the ditches, don't go to make up fine 
ladies. Where is the rest of my hair ? " 

"Scattered about everywhere, if you want to know," 
said Sheniona: "it made about twenty different shades 
when they came to handle and assort it. Part of it is in a 
set of side-curls in London, part in a lawyer's * scratch ' 
somewhere in Boston, part in a mustache owned by a New 
Yorker who is always dodging the detectives, but most of 
it's on dolls." 

"Dolls?" 

"Yes, dolls, — those tow-headed, wax dolls. I shouldn't 
be surprised if you fitted out a dozen of 'em." 

" I'll find it all yet," hissed the Dutch lass between her 
teeth. " I'll find it all yet." 

" Not unless you're civil you wont. Now, good people, 
don't stand all night disputing over one hair ! " 

The scene was over at last. The " golden mass of 
wealth " had dwindled to nothing. One by one the women 
vanished. The fire flickered wildly, and Ella was once 
more alone with Sheniona. 



SPIRIT OF THE WATERFALL. l8l 

" Don't ciy," said the Spirit : " I've not deserted you 
yet. Tell me what I can do for you." 

" Nothing, nothing ! " sobbed Ella. " Only leave me, 
and never, never come near me again." 

" Never ! " repeated Sheniona, in astonishment. 

"Never." 

" Why, you will look like a fright." 

" No," said my brave little Ella, quite herself now. " I 
shall not look like a fright. I am not bald. But for your 
wicked spells, I should never have slighted the adornment 
Nature had already given me." 

"Nature ! " sneered the Spirit, with intense scorn. 

"It is you, Sheniona," continued Ella, "who all these 
months have made me look like a fright ; you who have 
loaded my poor head till it ached ; you who have made me 
almost a liar and a cheat ; you who have made me wrong 
those poor women, and worry them in their graves ; you 
who " — 

"Hold! "cried Sheniona, now in a great passion. "You 
have said enough. From this hour I am done with you. 
Yes, I and my army shall withdraw from you forever ! " 

" Your army ! " 

" I have said it. — Come forth, my brave followers ! " 
cried the Spirit of the Waterfall. 

Instantly numerous boxes and drawers about the room 
flew open ; and out hopped a regiment, it seemed, of crimp- 
ers and crinkling-pins. These were marshalled by a num- 
ber of puffy officers, brevetted " rats " and " coils ; " while 
conspicuous among them stalked a stately pair of curling- 
tongs. 

" This way ! " commanded the Spirit turning savagely 
about. »6 



l82 THEOPHILUS Ah^D OTHERS. 

She marched toward the fireplace ; her army followed 
in rattling procession. At the hearth she stepped upon 
the pan. From the pan she hopped upon the bars. From 
the bars she sprang into the blaze ; and in the biaze she 
vanished, army and all. 

" Thank Heaven ! She's gone ! " cried Ella, starting 
up. " But what a dreadful odor of burning ! And how 
hot it is ! Oh ! " 

An instant, and she was in the hall, screaming, " Help ! 
Fire ! " with all her might. 

The household were awake by this time. Men were 
rushing in at the front door. Ella, looking back into her 
room, saw the toilet-table a blackened mass; saw her beauti- 
ful dress on the chair suddenly leap up in a fiery flash; saw 
the curtains near by curling and blazing ; and realized how 
that star of gaslight had treacherously done its work, light- 
ing the slow-burning damask, that in time had fired the light 
draperies of her toilet-table. She would have ventured in 
to rescue a few precious notes that were locked in her work- 
table ; but a gruff voice shouted through the smoke, — 

" Don't come in, miss ! — Here, Jim, down with them 
curtains the first thing ! " 

" Mercy on us ! Oh, my ! oh, my ! " shrieked the house- 
keeper, who at that instant burst upon the scene, an image 
of frantic despair in double-gown and night-cap. " Mercy 
on us ! Come quick. Miss Ella, before the stairs goes ! " 

Thanks to prompt action and the good offices of Croton, 
the fire was soon arrested with scarcely more damage done 
than that which we have already seen. In a week or two 
carpenters, painters, gilders, upholsterers, and cabinet- 
makers had come and gone, leaving every thing as it was 
before. 



SPIRIT OF THE WATERFALL. 1 83 

Everything? No, not quite. Ella was changed. No 
longer a victim to the spells of Sheniona, she became 
faultless in her beauty as she was true and tender at heart. 
Left to itself, her lovely hair, tossed lightly back from her 
temples, soon fell into a waving way of its own, beautiful 
to behold ; and the golden net in which her looped-up 
tresses were imprisoned seemed to shine with gladness 
because it held only Ella's hair. What a pretty trick of 
thoughtfulness, too, came over my little girl ! Why, in 
her girlish wisdom she could put a dozen pompous men 
to shame! She became an inspiration to me, waking into 
healthy activity the drowsy instinct that had been dis- 
gusted with shams, yet had not strength to denounce 
them. She even asked me timidly one evening, whether I 
didn't think we'd be happier if we were to spend more 
time quietly together, and less in the whirl of ballrooms. 
Bless her heart ! before long we actually read books to- 
gether. Think of that! Read books, — good, sensible 
books too. When the time came, as it did last winter, 
that we had a pretty house of our own to furnish, we went 
out together to see about pictures : my darling is really 
growing to have quite an eye for that sort of thing. We 
bought photographs too, and a piano and a bookcase ; 
but the great treasure of all to me, in the furniture line, 
is that big armchair. If it hadn't been saved that night, 
I really am not sure that I would have cared to go to 
housekeeping. 

" You foolish boy ! " exclaimed Ella, the other night, 
when, thinking aloud, I uttered this sentiment in her 
presence. " You foolish, crazy boy ! How can you talk 
such nonsense ? " 



I84 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

I was grave in an instant. 

"Ella, dear," I said, "in my opinion that chair (inci- 
dentally, of course) changed the whole current of our 
lives. You know we've neither of us had one clouded 
moment since the night of the fire, when you fell asl " — 

" Now, Willie, stop ! " cried Ella, blushing tearfully. 
" Don't you know we were never, never to speak of that 
dreadful night again ? " 



Sunday Afternoon in a 

POOR-HoUSE. 




OME persons have a way of showing their keen 
appreciation of pleasant conditions by rushing 
off in thought to their extreme opposites. 
As last Sunday was a glorious day, golden with sunlight 
and rich with blithesome messages sent through the whis- 
pering air and written on the blue sky in cloud-white hiero- 
glyphics, and as I was surrounded by luxury and could 
hear the sweet voices of a score of church-bells, my enjoy- 
ment reached such a height that I concluded to go to the 
Poor-House. Fortunately the mood was readily commu- 
nicated to a friend. We joined hands with a true Yankee 
" Let's ! " and started. 

It was easy enough to open the Poor-House gate ; easy 
enough to look up at the great red brick building, with its 
massive wings that had no thought of flying, its many 
windows, looking out nowhere in particular, and its Ironic 
order of architecture generally ; easy enough to mount the 
steps, ring the bell ; and, alack ! wofully easy instantly to 
wish one's self a mile away. What would the Poor-House 
i6* 185 



1 86 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

folk say? Who would come to the door? Would they 
let us in — and on Sunday ? 

The door opened — something rushed out. For an 
instant I was sure it was a crowd of paupers. But no : 
it was only voices, — a mingled swell of voices that sud- 
denly ceased as we went in, as if, somehow, we had pinched 
it to death by shutting the door. A mild young man 
looked inquiringly at us, without speaking, and then mo- 
tioned us to enter and go to the left. I noticed several 
things in a flash. In the first place, we were in a great 
bare hall, covered with bright oil-cloth ; second, the sur- 
rounding wood-work was very white and shiny ; third, the 
ceiling was high ; and, fourth, though every thing seemed 
strangely silent, there was a great noise somewhere. It 
might have been in the air, or in the oil-cloth, or in the 
mild young man's eyes, I didn't exactly know. This lasted 
only for an instant ; then I felt sure there was a crowd of 
persons near us, and that the noise came simply from the 
fact of their being alive : a voice became audible as we 
turned into a narrow passage-way. 

Some one was praying. The rush of sound we had 
heard was the closing note of a hymn. There were open 
doors around this inner hall ; through one we saw a room 
full of men, and at the others, strange figures of women, 
who were flitting about uneasily. We moved on softly, 
and took the chairs that the young man offered us. They 
were just inside the doorway of the room where the 
men sat. Now we could see a row or two of bare-headed 
women at the far-end of the apartment and all along one 
side. Dingy-looking men sat against the opposite wall. 
What revelations we saw in those rows of pauper faces I 



SUNDAY AFTERNOON IN A POOR-HOUSE. 1 8/ 

They seemed to be mute visitors from some land of rags 
where the sun never shone, — to have sprung into life full 
grown, yet with only misery for heart-blood, so restless 
and desolate their look. In the centre of the room stood 
a table with an open Bible upon it, and around this table, 
several feet away from it, about a dozen well-dressed men 
were seated, — men with furrowed, earnest faces, restful 
yet anxious eyes, and nearly all of them had their hands 
clasped in eager interest. They were the members of the 

Pra3'ing Band of N , who visit the Poor-House every 

alternate Sunday, and spend an hour with its inmates. 

The prayer had almost imperceptibly changed to an 
appeal to those present. The rich, deep voice of the 
speaker was answered in various parts of the room with 
sighs of sympathy and occasional bursts of " Amen ! " 
" God be praised ! " " Ah, yes ! " All that he said was 
admirable, — no rhetorical display was needed here. He 
had a message of love and mercy for his hearers, and he 
told it simply, with tears in his eyes, " There is help for 
all ! " he almost sobbed, " help for all 1 I have read a 
glorious promise for you and for me. Jesus loves you : 
he is knocking now at your door. Will you turn him 
away ? " 

*' No, no, God forbid ! " moaned a fervent voice. " Let 
him in ! let him in ! " 

It came from an old woman in a faded cotton skirt and 
shawl : she was bent nearly double, the big ruffle on her 
cap flapped over a sallow little face that seemed to have 
neither eyes nor mouth, but only wrinkles, a chin, and a 
nose, — a poor, miserable little speck of a woman ; and 
yet how she took her place with earth's mighty ones at 



l88 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

that moment ! A human soul is grand, even in a poor- 
house. 

Then there was a hymn, — the Doxology, — we all 
stood up and sang, even the bent old woman and a very 
aged man, who trembled as if he were afraid of falling. 
While we stood, the blessing was invoked, and the Pray- 
ing Band, after saying a few hearty words to this one and 
that, went off cheerily enough, and left us alone with the 
overseer and the paupers. 

My friend talked with the overseer ; but I walked along 
the hall, exchanging a word or two with the women who 
stood around. One of the poor creatures was crazy — 
" harmless," they said ; but she seemed tortured with in- 
ward bitterness. I smiled at her, trusting to the magnet- 
ism of kindness and sympathy ; but she glowered at me 
with a hideous grimace that sent the blood running back 
icily into my heart. Then she stood aside and nodded. 
I tried again, offering the smile as before. How good 
my friends have been never openly to complain of its 
quality ! This poor creature candidly testified her disap- 
proval, and sent it back to me in horrible travesty. Poor 
creature, what has wrecked her, I wonder ? There was 
no time to ask questions, for there was too much to be 
seen. 

I noted one woman, whose possible history opened 
before me like a revelation. She was thin and gaunt, with 
a skin like old parchment, and a loose under lip that 
seemed to say sullenly, " Once I was pretty and red, and 
I used to smile, and say saucy things." She seemed about 
forty years old ; her head had great bald spots over the ears, 
and its little wisp of yellowish-gray hair was gathered into 



SUNDAY AFTERNOON IN A POOR-HOUSE. 1 89 

a knot by a broken red comb that long ago had been showy. 
Her dress was of a dim, nameless hue, and hung as if its 
life had long ago been washed away ; a once gay necker- 
chief was folded over her flat breast, and lying over this 
was a wide frill of cotton lace, gathered at the long sinewy 
throat. The collar evidently had been washed for Sunday ; 
and, strange to say, the woman, after all, had something 
of what is called a stylish look. There was an old-time 
grace lurking somewhere among her bones, ugly and faded 
and wretched as she was. I would have spoken to her, 
but she turned stiffly away, as if with a haughty sense that 
I did not belong to " her set." Near her stood a sad-faced 
German woman, who held a little girl by the hand. How 
much alike the two faces were, and yet one was fresh and 
bright, and the other wan with poverty and trouble ! In 
one, life showed like a dawn that threw a ruddy light on 
the clouds around ; in the other, it stood shrouded like a 
ghost behind the pale cheek and weary eye. Something 
about this mother and child made me ask the overseer 
whether they did not sometimes find good places for the 
inmates, where they could earn a livelihood. " Oh, yes ! " 
he said, " it often happens so ; and we do all we can toward 
getting the able-bodied ones into service. We try to send 
them away better men and women than they were when 
they came." 

Just then I spied an old woman with large, dark eyes, 
looking rather more comfortable than the rest, though she 
leaned on a crutch, and her hands were badly swollen at 
the knuckles. She had a little room on the main floor. 
It had a comfortable bed in it, a chest, a table, a 
chair, and on its window-shelf were growing a few gera- 



190 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

niums in pots and boxes. Just now the old woman stood 
in her doorway, and smiled brightly as I approached. 

" Were you in at the meeting ? " I asked. 

" No," she answered, with a bright glance that lighted 
up her thin face, and deepened the flush on her ckeek, " I 
didn't go in. My rheumatiz wont let me sit down, when 
it ain't a mind to ; but I stood outside here, and heerd it 
all." 

" Well, that's better than nothing," I said, catching her 
cheery manner. " It's a happy thing, I am sure, for you 
to have these meetings." 

" Oh, certain ! " she answered. " Folks take heaps o' 
comfort out o' religion. It's beautiful to hear 'em prayin'." 

This was uttered in such an outside way, that I was 
tempted to add, " Yes, and to pray one's self. Don't you 
think so ? " 

" Lor ! yes," she answered, staring at me in that uncom- 
promising way peculiar to paupers. " Lor ! yes. I took 
religion two year ago, and prayin' is every thing to me." 

" I knew something made you happy," I said, "because 
you take pains to have those geraniums growing in your 
window. Did you raise them yourself ? " 

" Oh, certain ! " nodding her head and still staring. 
" Raised 'em, and have great luck with all such. I look 
at 'em when I'm doubled up with rheumatiz ; but, thank 
the Lord, I off an' on can use some of my fingers right 
handy ; and then I sew, which is nice, having good eye- 
sight." 

Just then a forlorn-looking man came out from the 
kitchen. " That's ///w," she said, shaking her head side- 
wise, " my husband — lost his health and broke down. 



SUNDAY AFTERNOON IN A POOR-HOUSE. 19I 

But he's a baker by trade, and when he kin, he helps with 
he bakin'." 

" That's good," I said : " it must make both of you 
happier to feel that he is useful." 

" My ! yes," she answered, with a superb wag of her 
head, " Oh ! in course. It makes me quite airy and 
independent, it does." 

Poor old woman ! Grand old pauper ! 

Next to the room where the services had been held, 
was the eating-hall. We saw the long bare tables, and 
women standing beside them, eating their early supper. 
A girl came in with a large wooden bowl, filled with 
slices of buttered bread. These were distributed around ; 
and in addition each had a tin cup filled with milk. Cer- 
tainly all appeared neither under-fed nor sickly, though 
they wore the inevitable look that comes with long hard- 
ship, and which rarely is driven away by relief. 

Next, after a few enterprising explorations, we found 
ourselves on a little back porch of the building, my 
friend and the overseer discussing points that did not in- 
terest me, and I peering about with a vague dread that I 
might see something which it would not be pleasant to 
discover. 

Of course I did that very thing. Behind me was the 
smooth-walled hall with its shining oilcloth ; above me, 
the blue sky with its suggestion of bird-song ; before me, 
trees in which a soft breeze was sporting ; and so I peered 
into a kind of square area, or wall-corner, or whatever it 
was, and saw — what ! 

Two women, — one clinging to a bench, and looking 
more like a huge, gray, half-dead bat than a woman, so 



192 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

dustily flimsy were her rags and hangings ; and another, 
at brazen-looking thing, in the very bravery of squalor. 
The brazen-looking thing was either an idiot or a lunatic, 
I could not tell which : the busy, aimless look in her face 
meant nothing. She seemed the guardian of the bat. 
Near by, where some scrubber had left it, stood a pail of 
dirty water with a sponge in it. Suddenly the half-witted 
thing stooped, and, taking the sponge from the pail, lifted 
it all dripping to the other woman's bowed face. There 
was no remonstrance, only a wretched jerk of the head, 
which ceased with the second stroke of the wet sponge. 
When for a third time it was dipped for a fresh supply, 
again to be aimlessly thrust into the poor helpless face, I 
called to the overseer ; and he stopped the proceedings 
with a sharp "stut-t-t! " that sent the half-witted creature 
off to a corner, grinning, and rubbing her wrists, as though 
she were a monkey. 

In again for further explorations, and up, up, to the 
very top of the building. Then after we had mounted to 
the cupola, which, after the manner of most cupolas, was 
not at that moment in a condition to afford us a " look- 
out," we turned, and went down again past the bed-cham- 
bers, and the sitting-rooms, dining-hall, kitchens, wash- 
rooms, boiler-rooms, and cellars, until we found ourselves 
in the open air, quite at a distance from the neat doorway 
by which we had entered. 

Then, with many thanks, we bade our guide good-by, 
and sought the front gate, — my friend filled with grand, 
philanthropic ideas, and I bathing in a grateful sunbeam 
of thought, in which floated, mote-like, bathing-tubs, 
patent ventilators, bare tables, tin cups, a tumbled-down 



SUNDAY AFTERNOON IN A POOR-HOUSE. 1 93 

old man, a bald-headed, stylish pauper, a bright little 
child-face, the Praying Band, my " airy and independent " 
old woman, the dreadful creature with her sponge, and 
the mild young man who had let us in. 

But the clouds had risen meanwhile : the air was grow- 
ing chill. As I looked back at the great red building, a 
choking sense of human misery came over me. The 
brooding friend beside me was silent ; and so, true to my 
nature, I said, — 

" Let us walk fast. There'll be a bright fire at home ; 
and they'll all be sitting round it, waiting for us." 
17 



Miss Malony on the 
Chinese Question. 




jCH! don't be talkin'. Is it howld on, ye say? 
An' didn't I howld on till the heart of me was 
clane broke entirely, and me wastin' that thin 
ye could clutch me wid yer two hands. To think o' me 
toilin' like a nager for the six year I've been in Ameriky 
— bad luck to the day I iver left the owld counthry ! — to 
be bate by the likes o' them ! (faix, an' I'll sit down when 
I'm ready, so I will, Ann Ryan ; an' ye'd better be list- 
nin' than drawin' yer remarks). An' is it meself, with five 
good charac'ters from respectable places, would be herdin' 
wid the haythens ? The saints forgive me, but I'd be 
buried alive sooner'n put up wid it a day longer. Sure, 
an' I was the granehorn not to be lavin' at once-t when 
the missus kim into me kitchen wid her perlaver about 
the new waiter-man which was brought out from Californy. 
" He'll be here the night," says she. " And, Kitty, it's 
meself looks to you to be kind and patient wid him ; for 
he's a furriner," says she, a kind o' lookin' off. "Sure, 
an' it's little I'll hinder nor interfare wid him, nor any 
194 



MISS MALONY. I9S 

other, mum," says I, a kind o' stiff; for I minded me 
how these French waiters, wid their paper collars and 
brass rings on their fingers, isn't company for no gurril 
brought up dacent and honest. Och ! sorra a bit I knew 
what was comin' till the missus walked into me kitchen, 
smilin', and says, kind o' sheared, *' Here's Fing Wing, 
Kitty ; an' ye'll have too much sinse to mind his bein' a 
little strange." Wid that she shoots the doore ; and I, 
misthrustin' if I was tidied up sufficient for me fine buy 
wid his paper collar, looks up, and — Howly fathers ! may 
I niver brathe another breath, but there stud a rale hay- 
then Chineser, a-grinnin' like he'd just come off a tay- 
box. If ye'll belave me, the crayture was that yeller it 
'ud sicken ye to see him ; and sorra stitch was on him 
but a black night-gown over his trowsers, and the front of 
his head shaved claner nor a copper-biler, and a black 
tail a-hangin' down from it behind, wid his two feet stook 
into the haythenestest shoes ye ever set eyes on. Och ! 
but I was up stairs afore ye could turn about, a-givin' the 
missus warnin', an' only stopt wid her by her raisin' me 
wages two dollars, and playdin' wid me how it was a Chris- 
tian's duty to bear wid haythens, and taitch 'em all in our 
power — the saints save us! Well, the ways and trials I 
had wid that Chineser, Ann Ryan, I couldn't be tellin'. 
Not a blissed thing cud I do, but he'd be lookin' on wid 
his eyes cocked up'ard like two poomp-handles ; an' he 
widdout a speck or smitch o' whishkers on him, an' his 
finger-nails full a yard long. But it's dyin' ye'd be to see 
the missus a-larnin' him, an' he grinnin', an' waggin' his 
pig-tail (which was pieced out long wid some black stoof, 
the haythen chate !) and gettin' into her ways wonderful 




196 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

quick, I don't deny, imitatin' that sharp, ye'd be shur- 
prised, and ketchin' an' copyin' things the best of "US will 
do a-hurried wid work, yet don't want comin' to the knowl- 
edge o' the family — bad luck to him ! 

f^(f^ /" ~N "'^^ ^^ ^^^ ^^'^^ ^^"^ ^ Arrah, an' would I 

,)}Sia& ^ bg sittin' wid a haythen, an' he a-atiii' 

wid drum-sticks ? — yes, an' atin' dogs an' 
cats unknownst to me, I warrant ye, 
which it is the custom of them Chinesers, till the thought 
made me that sick I could die. An' didn't the crayture 
proffer to help me a wake ago come Toosday, an' me fold- 
in' down me clane clothes for the ironin', an' fill his hay- 
then mouth wid water, an' afore I could hinder, squirrit it 
through his teeth stret over the best linen tablecloth, 
and fold it up tight, as innercent now as a baby, the dirrity 
baste ! But the worrest of all was the copyin' he'd be 
doin' till ye'd be dishtracted. It's yerself knows the tinder 
feet that's on me since ever I've bin in this counthry. 
Well, owin' to that, I fell into a way o' slippin' me shoes 
off when I'd be settin' down to pale the praities, or the 
likes o' that ; and, do ye mind, that haythen would do the 
same thing after me whiniver the missus set him to parin' 
apples or tomaterses. The saints in heaven couldn't ha' 
made him belave he cud kape the shoes on him when he'd 
be paylin' any thing. 

Did I lave for that ? Faix, an' I didn't. Didn' he get 
me into throuble wid my missus, the haythen ! Ye're 
aware yerself how the boondles comin' in from the gro- 
cery often contains more'n '11 go into any thing dacently. 
So, for that matter, I'd now and then take out a sup o' 
sugar, or flour, or tay, an' wrap it in paper, and put it in 



MISS MALONY. 1 97 

me bit of a box tucked under the ironin'-blanket the how 
it cuddent be bodderin' any one. Well, what shud it 
be, but this blessed Sathurday morn, the missus was 
a-spakin' pleasant an' respec'ful wid me in me kitchen, 
when the grocer buy comes in, and stands 'fornenst her 
wid his boondles ; an' she motions like to Fing Wing 
(which I never would call him by that name ner any other 
but just haythen) — she motions to him, she does, for to 
take the boondles, an' empty out the sugar an' what not 
where they belongs. If ye'll belave me, Ann Ryan, 
what did that blatherin' Chineser do but take out a sup o' 
sugar, an' a han'ful o' tay, an' a bit o' chaze, right afore 
the missus, wrap 'em into bits o' paper, an' I spacheless 
wid shurprize, an' he the next minute up wid the ironin'- 
blanket, an' pullin' out me box wid a show o' bein' sly to 
put them in. Och, the Lord forgive me, but I clutched 
it, an' the missus sayin', " O Kitty ! " in a way that ud 
cruddle your blood. "He's a haythen nager," says I. 
" I've found yer out," says she. " I'll arrist him," says I. 
" It's yerself ought to be arristed," says she. " Yer won't," 
says I. " I will," says she. And so it went, till she give 
me such sass as I cuddent take from no lady, an' I give 
her warnin', an' left that instant, an' she a-pointin' to the 
doore. 

17* 



LITTLE TALKS. 



BY SUSAN SNAPP. 



Our Debating Society 
Skeleton. 




HERE'S a skeleton in every house," says some 
old growler ; and it's true. John and I managed 
to keep ours away for a long time, but we knew 
it would turn up at last. Sure enough, it's come ! It has 
only got as far as our Debating Society as yet ; whether it 
ever gets any further, or not, is a matter of single combat 
between it and John. 

Now, if Mr. Snapp shines anywhere, it is in debate. 
The opposing side always loses heart as soon as he begins. 
He makes a point of being master of his subject, never 
loses his temper, and invariably throws the balance in 
favor of his own side of a question. I don't say this be- 
cause he's my John — not at all. If he couldn't debate 
well, I'd be sure to know it, for we often take up little 
questions between ourselves. Besides, I'm always so 
anxious when he rises to speak in public, that my whole 
soul listens. Consequently his weak points, if there are 
any, always strike me with tremendous force, though that 
may be rather a contradictory way of putting it. 



202 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

I'm not the only one who holds this opinion. The 
whole town thinks the same. They always try to have 
two or three extra speakers, " to balance Snapp " as they 
say ; or, rather, they did so until our skeleton appeared at 
the Debating-Society meetings, — a real skeleton, with a 
skin drawn over it, and called by courtesy a man. Yes, 
he's a plain, gaunt, high-shouldered, long-nosed old farmer, 
who carries a red bandanna, and talks through his nose, 
with a most atrocious twang beside ; one of your per- 
verse, aggravating creatures, who utters about six words a 
day, and sets you foaming. This old fellow has attended 
but two of our meetings ; and already he's turned every 
thing inside out and topsy-turvy — that is, as far as John's 
position is concerned. The first time he came — shall I 
ever forget it? — he sat in the darkest corner of the old 
schoolhouse, taking a nap through the greater portion of 
the debate. At last John's turn came ; and, in the pleas- 
ant rustle and stir that always take place when John rises 
to speak, our skeleton woke up. 

Well, John spoke beautifully, if I do say it. The ques- 
tion was, " Which has the Greater Effect upon Mankind, 
— Hope, or Fear ? " Luckily John was on the Hope side, 
which, having good sense, religion, and poetry with it, 
made his task as inspiriting as it was easy. The other 
side had been cleverly sustained. Collins's Ode on the 
Passions had been quoted with great effect ; but it was 
really wonderful to see John carry his audience away from 
the point where his opponent, an eloquent young college 
graduate, had left them shuddering. 

No : Fear was low, Hope was high ; Fear was cowardice, 
Pope was courage ; Fear was .this, Hope was that ; and 



OUR DEBATING SOCIETY SKELETON. 203 

so on, until even those on the opposite side, forgetting 
their defeat, grew radiant. As for me, I could hear the 
Bow-bells of my ambition saying, " Turn again, Snapp, 
member of the Legislature." At last, after asserting 
something about Hope springing eternal in the human 
breast, he gave a peroration that made me say " Dear old 
John " under my breath, and — 

Up jumped the skeleton. 

No ; he didn't jump up at all. He just slowly stretched 
his neck upward, and kept on until it brought him stand- 
ing. Then he looked about him with such an air ! It 
was not conceit, nor assurance, and certainly it was not 
meekness ; it struck me as being more of an anti-John 
air than any thing else — but I may have been mistaken. 

" Ladies and gentlemen," said he, through his nose, " I 
didn't come here to-night with any notion of speakin', nor 
hev I any thin' pertickerlar to say except on one p'int. 
The question is, whether Hope or Fear has the greatest 
effect upon mankind ; and how have you decided it ? " 

" Hope has it," exclaimed a voice. 

" That's so," said another. 

" Order ! " shouted the chairman. 

" I go in for Hope," cried a daring young fellow near 
the door. 

Thereupon a timid friend of the other side essayed a 
faint "Fear." 

Instantly the place was in what maybe called an orderly 
uproar. Scores of voices shouted " Hope ! Hope ! " and, 
at every faint solo of. "Fear," the Hope chorus gathered 
strength and audacity. 

Meantime I nudged John proudly ; and he looked be- 
nignly at the chairman, as if to say, — 



204 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

"The audience is slightly won over, you see." 

The skeleton coughed. Instantly the voices went out 
as if they had been lights. 

" So do I go in for Hope," he twanged, — " go in for it 
most entire ; but that hain't the p'int under discussion. 
The question is, which has the greatest influence upon 
man? Now, I calc'late you can't affect a man anymore 
serious than to kill him." 

" That's so," responded somebody aloud, and everybody 
mentally. 

" Very well," drawled the old fellow, beginning to sit 
down, and finishing his sentence just as he touched the 
seat ; " there's lots o' instances of men and women dyin' 
of fear, but who ever heerd of any one a-dyin' of hope ? " 

Poor John ! What chance had he with a country audi- 
ence after that ? The vote was taken at once, and Fear 
carried it almost unanimously. 

Then the subject for the next debate was proposed and 
accepted : — 

" Which has proved the Greater Blessing to the Human 
Race, — Literature or Agriculture ? " 

The sides were given out ; and as good luck would have 
it, John was put down for Agriculture, and the skeleton 
was made the champion of Literature ! 

This was too good a joke to be passed by. Everybody 
laughed except the skeleton. He merely stuffed his ban- 
danna into his hat, put it on, and walked out like a 
somnambulist. 

I was worked up, I confess. The idea of John, who is 
nothing more nor less than pure gold, being made to 
appear like German silver by a creature like that ! How- 
ever, I said nothing, but waited for the next meeting. 



OUR DEBATING SOCIETY SKELETON. 205 

It came off last week, and, like Tarn O'Shanter — 
though, I'm glad to say, in a different way — John was 
glorious. He put Literature on a very little shelf in less 
than no time ; but Agriculture he made to shine as the 
second sun of the universe, — Agriculture, the great feeder 
and ennobler of man. Literature seemed generally weak 
that night. Its seven advocates took it out mainly in 
coughing, and saying, " Mr. Chairman ; " but nearly every 
man and woman there knew the blessings of a farmer's 
life, — its freedom, its pride of honest toil, its slow but 
sure rewarding. 

Four of the advocates of Agriculture excelled them- 
selves. They were nearly as good as John ; but then, you 
see, their subject gave them every advantage, especially 
as all who had spoken on the other side were country 
bumpkins, and didn't know an epic from an almanac. 
There was but one speaker left for them, and that was the 
skeleton, who, of course, would flounder helplessly if he 
attempted to ford this question. 

At last he rose ; and I assure you, his side didn't " die 
of hope " when he began. 

" Friend Scott has called upon me to say somethin'" 
said he, after his neck had pulled him to his feet ; " but it 
don't hardly seem worth while." 

[" Aha ! " hissed my revengeful heart, and even John 
smiled grimly.] 

" I hain't an argermentative man, myself," he continued, 
" and I don't hold to take part in these 'ere debates ; but 
I do hold that this is a good Christian assembly, and it 
does go ag'in me to see what the Almighty entailed on 
man as a curse bein' held up in this 'ere place as a 
blessin'." 18 



206 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

Down he sat. The audience, sound and orthodox to a 
man, ahemmed, hawed, and, I need not say, passed a 
unanimous vote on the side of the skeleton : even John 
held up his right hand for Literature. 

That's all. I don't know that any thing can be done 
about it. Setting aside slang, which I abhor, my only 
hope is, that, as the old fellow hasn't more than a pint of 
blood in him, he may dry up before long, and disappear. 



Sunshine. 




EELING rather blue to-day, it occurs to me to 
say something about sunshine. A good idea ! 
Already the blessed word shows brightly upon 
the paper. Its alliteration seems to appeal directly to me. 
" Sun, Susan ! Shine, Snapp !" it says in brisk, peremptory 
tones ; and why shouldn't I try ? It will be better for 
John, for the children, for the servants, for all of us. 

Shine in here, please, good Sun, and let us find out 
what's the matter. Ah ! I see. A little discontent, a 
little laziness, a little selfishness, and a moiety of that 
vague feeling of apprehension which loves to steal in upon 
one unawares. Why, I thought it was some real trouble ! 
Already the wee, restless motes are floating off in the 
bright beams, and I am happy. My prayer without words 
is answered. How beautiful every thing is out of the win- 
dow, — the sky, the trees, the grass, even the flower-beds 
that need weeding, and the garden-paths gullied afresh by 
last night's rain ! It is pleasant, after all, to see so much 
out-of-door work to be done. It gives one a familiar fel- 
lowship with Nature, a sort of tussling, you-and-I feeling, 
that adds vastly to one's sense of importance. 

207 



208 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

Glancing roomward from the window, the view still is 
pleasant. There's a home look about things, though the 
armchair does need a new cushion. (So there is Dick ! 
Sing away! What! jolly, and in prison? There, I'll put 
you in the sun too.) 

Dick likes that. Ah ! how he sings now ! I never 
thought of it before ; but really that trill is just full to 
the brim of household names. As I listen, I can hear 
them all — not distinctly, but strangely blended in a few 
shrill, ecstatic notes. Is the sunshine on the carpet really 
quivering, or do I fancy it ? No, it's the shadow of Dick's 
fairy cage, as he hops about and makes it swing. Look- 
ing at the sunshine — that giver of life, health, and joy — 
reminds me of a true story that never has been printed. 

Dear little Kitty G used to live next door with her 

widowed mother and a very irritable grandfather, who — 
poor old man ! — couldn't bear the play of children, and 
always, in chiding them, let his aches and pains get the 
better of his once cheery voice. Kitty, with her floating, 
golden-brown hair, her blue eyes and dimpled little shoul- 
ders, looked too pretty a thing to growl at ; yet he would 
growl often at the mere sound of her voice. At other 
times he would sit silent for hours, scowling darkly, and 
seeming to have wilfully stalked away from all warmth 
and kindliness. Strange to say, little Kitty had certain 
ways so like his that they really alarmed her mother. 
The child often would become moody without a cause, or 
go off into shocking fits of baby-passion. Her health 
seemed excellent ; her eyes were bright, and her cheeks 
rosy, even when the "grandfather look," as the household 
called it, was settling upon her face. Various plans of 



SUNSHINE. 209 

cure were tried in vain. At last, during one of Kitty's 
worst spells of sullenness, a sudden inspiration came to 
the poor mother. 

The sunshine was streaming into the room. 

*' Kitty," she said, moving a tiny rocking-chair to a 
brightly lighted spot on the carpet, " come sit here a little 
while." 

The child obeyed in angry silence. 

" What you want me to sit here for ? " she snapped forth 
after a few moments' waiting. 

" Because it is such a glad place, Kitty. The sun is 
shining there, all the way from heaven." 

*' I don't care ! " is Kitty's irreverent comment. 

" / care," answers the mother softly ; " for the sun 
makes the world light and the waters bright. It puts 
color into birds, flowers, butterflies, and every thing. It 
brings gladness and new life to the world every morning. 
It comeS from God, Kitty ; and I pray that He will let 
some of its brightness and gladness steal into you." 

Instantly Kitty jerked her chair aside, out of the bright 
beam, as if resolved that no unfair advantage should be 
allowed, and again muttered, " I don't care." 

The mother made no reply. She could not, for the 
tears that were welling up in her heart. Still Kitty rocked 
and scowled, holding her pretty blue dress and white apron 
close to her side, as if to keep it entirely out of the sun- 
light. Meantime her ej^es were fixed defiantly upon the 
bright spot on the floor. 

Suddenly she looked up in amazement. 

" Mamma," she cried, " it's creepin' — it's comin' to 
Kitty ! " 

18* 



210 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

" That's because God loves you," said the mother, trem- 
bling, yet not knowing why. " Oh ! if my little girl would 
only let the sun come to her straight from God, it would 
brighten her, I know : all the ugly shadows would run out 
of her heart." 

Kitty did not answer : she was watching the bright spot. 
In her eagerness, she slid from her chair, and knelt upon 
the carpet. The light crept nearer, nearer ; it touched the 
hem of her dress, it climbed up her little apron, it folded 
her in its splendor, it danced in her eyes ; and she burst 
forth into a happy, childish laugh. 

" It's come, mamma ! " she cried joyfully. " It's come ! " 
" Don't cry, mamma ! " she said coaxingly, as her mother, 
kneeling beside her, kissed her again and again. " Don't 
cry, mamma ! I dess Kitty wont never be naughty any 
more." 

" My own darling, I am so glad ! Wont you thank 
God, Kitty, for all this ? " 

" I dess I will," said the little girl, as if deliberating 
upon it ; "p'rhaps I'll put something about it in my 'Now 
I lay me,' to-night, because I do like the funny old sun. 
— Now, you rocking-chair, you must go back to the wall, 
mustn't you ? " 

So, childlike, happy, and full of loving pranks, the little 
one spent the rest of the long day in a manner that aston- 
ished all the household, accustomed as they had been to 
her almost hourly fits of gloom and ill-humor. That night, 
as she kissed her mother for good-night, the rosy mouth 
lingered a moment to whisper, " How shall I thank Dod 
about that ? " 

Sunlight had indeed entered her soul. To be sure, the 



SUNSHINE. 211 

naughty spells were not gone entirely ; but the intervals 
between them grew longer and longer, and each time they 
were checked in nearly the same way. The little creature 
would willingly sit or stand in the sunshine, at her mother's 
suggestion; and good-humor would come almost instantly. 
Once, on a rainy day, when she felt her temper rising, she 
said suddenly, " Oh ! if Kitty is naughty now, she can't 
det back ; can she, mamma ? " And mamma laughed, told 
her a pretty stor}^, cooed a sweet song in her ears, — any 
thing to take the sunshine's place, — until the little heart 
grew bright again. 

But this is not the end of the story. Months passed. 
The old grandfather evidently was failing : he would sit in 
his chair now nearly all day without noticing any one, except 
to mutter ill-humoredly when addressed. One beautiful 
morning his frown was even darker than usual. Kitty 
stole into the room with a hatful of cherries, and ventured 
to offer him some. His sharp rebuff sent the child trem- 
bling to her mother's side. For a moment they both 
looked wistfully at the poor old man, but the incident was 
too common to surprise them long. Soon Kitty had 

slipped away, and Mrs. G was sewing as busily as 

ever. 

At last something caused the mother to raise her head. 

There stood Kitty, near the south window, the sunlight 
streaming full upon her, lighting her bright hair, her eager, 
upturned face, and her apron, which she held up at the 
corners, with her chubby little arms extended. 

It was a beautiful picture ; and it stood so still, it might 
easily have been taken for a picture in reality. 

" What are you doing, Kitty ? " asked the mother at 
last. 



212 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

" I'm catchin' sunshine to t'row over dran'pa," said 
Kitty. 

Tlie old man leaned back in his chair with an amused 
smile. Then, as the child began to move very slowly and 
cautiously toward him, he watched her with interest. Sud- 
denly she stopped short, with a pitiful, " O mamma ! it 
wont stay. It's all spilling out. — Dran'pa, dran'pa ! you'll 
have to come here quick." And with an eager cry she 
caught up the apron, with its little remnant of sunlight, 
and hugged it to her breast. The grandfather smiled 
again, and was almost tempted to rise ; but Kitty was too 
delighted to wait. In a moment she had rushed to him, 
and he was lifting her to his lap, while she hurriedly 
opened her apron to toss the sunshine into his face. 

Did it stay there ? Yes, it did ; for somehow grand- 
father never was really cross to Kitty after that day. 



Migratory H usbands. 




NEVER had one of them, thank heaven ! but I 
know they must be dreadful, — these heads of 
famiHes who are forever popping up in new local- 
ities, with a " Lo ! I'll build here. Here's a rising bit of 
property;" or, "This old cottage I'll renovate, clap on 
a wing and a piazza, live in it six months, and sell out at 
a bargain." Then those husbands who are forever shift- 
ing their business from place to place, — now to a village, 
now to a city, now to the backwoods, — a delightful time 
must their wives have of it ! Never mind how faithful, 
devoted, and enterprising a woman may be, it's a great 
trial for her to be continually pulling up stakes, and tear- 
ing away home-tendrils, even if her migratory spouse is in 
other respects the best in the world. I'd like to see the 
person who would tell me that I wouldn't go with John, if 
he decided to set up a soda-fountain in the Desert of 
Sahara. No. I'd go; but I should suffer in the going, 
though I told my woes not even to old Cheops himself. 
But what if, instead of one grand move, he flitted about 
like a grasshopper ? What if he tried Bloomfield, and 
Flatbush, and VVoodside, and Harlem, and a dozen other 



214 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

places, from the coming of the first nursery-tooth to the 
going away of the last nursery-measles? What if he 
dipped the children into twenty schools, filled every April 
air with mournful farewells to all our neighbors, and kept 
the parlor carpets in a perpetual spasm of contraction 
and expansion ? Could I be the blessed, happy woman 
that I am ? Shouldn't I be thin, weary, and heart-sore, 
and the children morally just little waifs made of the 
shreds and patches of many villages ? Certainly. Far be 
it from me to question established similes of wifehood : 
but your oaks don't hop about. They stand still and 
give the clinging vines a chance to take root beside them. 

Only yesterday, while shopping in town, I chanced to 
find myself in a street-car beside a man and a stout 
woman engaged in earnest conversation. His was a thin, 
flushed face, with restless eyes, and lips that asked 
"Why?" "Who?" "Where?" even when they were 
silent. Hers was soft, fleshy, massive ; and its little eyes 
were full of temporary affability and interest. He evi- 
dently was speaking of some recent bereavement, while 
the lady leaning toward him wore a sort of wash of deep 
feeling which was " not a dye," though it gave her a 
hue of sympathy quite proper in a street-car. Presently I 
caught the words, — 

" She was in-deed. You lost a treasure when you lost 
herr 

" Yes, and a wonderful creature for moving about," 
pursued the man, with deep feeling. " It didn't make 
any difference : you could take that woman, and set her 
down anywhere ! " 

His eyes filled with tears j and I looked out of the 



MIGRATORY HUSBANDS. 215 

window, sorry for his sake, but glad that the angels had 
taken at least one poor woman away from a migratory 
husband. 

The country abounds with these naturalized Bedouins. 
I say nothing against men who go North, South, East, 
or West, and settle. They are the nerves of the body 
politic, and indispensable to our new civilization. But I 
do feel impelled to quote mother's favorite expression, 
and whisper to hundreds of men within hearing distance 
at this moment, " Do stay put." For the sake of wives, 
home, children, yourselves, take root somewhere. Help 
to build up in America the beautiful homestead feeling 
common to Europeans, and almost unknown to us. Let 
your very saplings understand that in time they are to 
shade your great-grea-t-grand-children. 



Up with the Times. 




OHN and I have had a visitor, — a man who is up 
with the times. He's gone now, and we're pretty 
well, thank you. This very morning he waved an 
unsubdued farewell to his friends from the deck of an out- 
ward-bound steamer slowly gliding down the bay. But 
he was at our cottage yesterday, and the day before, and 
the days before that, away back to the dim, distant morning 
when first he appeared, valise in hand. Ask the walls if 
it isn't so. 

Did we enjoy the visit? Certainly. I don't think John 
and I ever had a happier moment than when, after saying 
"good-by" a dozen times, we went back into the cottage, 
sank heavily upon the nearest chairs, and stared breath- 
lessly at each other. 

" He's gone, John," I gasped, " and I like him." 

" Yes," panted my spouse ; " capital fellow is Hobkins, 
— such company ! Been here a fortnight, hasn't he ? " 

" Sakes ! " exclaimed Aunt Betsey, passing through the 
room at that moment, " if you two are not com-plete-ly 
worn out ! " 

I smiled feebly in reply ; and John, simply remarking 
216 



UP WITH THE TIMES. 21/ 

that there were no two words about it, it really did people 
good to have a thorough waking up once in a while by 
men like Hobkins, tumbled over upon the sofa, and was 
soon fast asleep. 

To understand the situation, one must know Hobkins. 
He is one of your thoroughly posted men. He is a con- 
stant reader of every thing. He knows John Doe's mother, 
and Richard Roe's grandfather. A false quotation sets 
his teeth on edge. He whisks an encyclopaedia on every 
eyelash. He goes to the roots of things, yet knows all 
about the last leaf on the outermost branches. You'd 
think, to hear him talk, that he heard Beecher, Adams, 
Bellows, Cuyler, Chapin, Spurgeon, Brigham Young, and 
Moody preach every Sunday, and that he went everywhere 
and saw everybody and every thing every evening of his 
life. 

And yet he doesn't pretend, or put on airs. He simply 
inhales the events of the day, and breathes them out per- 
sonally. His oxygen comes to him in paragraphs. He 
flashes items. His very boots creak with facts. His 
" good-morning " is a sort of universal preface, and his 
" good-night " a general " to be continued." /call him 
a man in fifty volumes ; and John says it's a silly idea, but 
that, while I'm about it, I may as well make it a hundred. 

How the creature ever has time to wash and dress is a 
mystery to me. Yet his toilet is perfect. It seems as if 
he must force knowledge in with his hair-brush, and rub 
in definite ideas with his towel — yes, and grind in words 
with his tooth-brush. I never saw such a man ! 

Mr. Snapp prides himself on always being able to see 
both sides of an argument ; Hobkins turns the simplest 
19 



2l8 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

question into a dodecahedron. He is so plausible, too ! 
every illustration fits. He was born, so to speak, with a 
silver "why and wherefore " in his mouth. It makes no 
diiference what you think : you'll agree with Hobkins if 
you live to hear the end of his statements and demonstra- 
tions. 

Dear me! How much John and I know just from being 
with him a fortnight ; or, rather, what vistas have been 
opened to us, with Hobkins always standing at the far 
end ! Sometimes he would clinch the universe in his 
fist, and hammer it into our centre-table for us to examine 
at leisure ; and sometimes I actually had to take hold of 
my chair, he made the world spin by so fast. One day, 
when he chanced to allude incidentally to his wife, I al- 
most swooned. Mercy on us ! the idea of having that 
man for a husband ! I'd sooner marry the British Museum, 
and done with it. No : all the New York, Boston, Phila- 
delphia, San Francisco, New Orleans, and European news- 
papers represent him more fitly. His wife must feel like 
a Mrs. Associated Press. 

Hobkins gave us so many new ideas ! Woke us up, as 
it were. Only to-day I got a letter from Mrs. de Kuyster, 
secretary of the half-orphan society, signed " Yours, etc., 
Mary de Kuyster." Now, what did she mean by that ? 
A week ago I might not have noticed it, but Hobkins has 
been among us. Was she too lazy, too proud, or too con- 
scientious, to tell me exactly in what way I was hers ? or 
was the " etc." resorted to as a cowardly detour from can- 
dor ? Why didn't she sign herself simply Mary de Kuys- 
ter, or " Yours moderately," " Yours somewhat," or even 
" Disrespectfully yours " ? Any form would be preferable 



UP WITH THE TIMES. 219 

to that paltry et ccetera. I find myself vexed, not with 
Mrs. de Kuyster especially, but at the custom which per- 
mits these senseless impertinences. It's all wrong, this 
having to say, "Your — something," for courtesy's sake, 
whether it's true or not. Like " All send love," " Yours 
truly " is often just bosh, — mere sentiment without a 
backbone of fact. Ah ! the shams that have knelt in the 
closing words of letters ! the downright lies that have 
stridden forth in " Your humble servant," who is always 
respectfully or cordially somebody's ! 

You should have seen Hobkins at our table, I'd no 
idea plain diet could be so suggestive. He found spec- 
trum analyses in the salt-cellars, international rowing- 
matches in the spoons, balloon-travelling in the omelet, 
and co-operative housekeeping in the hash. He drew 
" survival of the fittest " from the very cheese ; and, as 
John confidentially remarked, actually shook kindergar- 
tens and juvenile delinquents out of the baby's feeding- 
apron. He found prison-discipline in the bread ; and 
female colleges, universal suffrage, and bland opinions 
generally, in the butter. The calves-head soup brought 
forth capital punishment ; the beef, labor-union systems ; 
and the dessert was full of Gates Ajar and spiritual mani- 
festations. Once, while filling his teacup, I felt as if I 
were pouring out the entire Suez Canal, and I'm sure I 
often dropped in a railroad accident with the sugar. What 
with iron cars, and elastic platforms, and wide gauges, and 
new brakes, car-starters, and compensating expansible 
rail-joinings, I grew confused in spite of myself. 

Really, I've not used so many big words in an age of 
Sundays. Some of them were new to me two weeks ago ; 



220 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

but now I'd like any one to show John and me any thing 
of which we haven't some sort of an inkling. 

Talking of ink, Hobkins says they've invented a sub- 
stitute for the present tedious process of writing, which, 
after all, is a primitive and barbarous method. And, by 
the way, speaking of barbarous things, what an absurd 
idea is now going the rounds of the English and French 
papers, though one of our countrymen started it ! — that the 
Americans are fast going back to Indian characteristics. 
They say it even of Americanized foreigners ; so that in a 
few generations here, a Dutch face comes out with high 
cheek-bones, piercing eyes, straight black hair, and an 
expression like Big Thunder. 

Talking of thunder, Hobkins is delighted with Mr. 
Quimby's practical ideas on self-protection during thunder- 
storms. He says he will have in future a long iron chain 
trailing to the ground from his summer umbrella, never 
mind who laughs. By the way, talking of Quimby and 
electricity, Hobkins says Benjamin Franklin was a brick, 
if he did wear costly laces when he wrote Poor Richard's 
Almanac. 

Talking of bricks, perhaps you may not know that the 
Bricklayers' Association of New York has just — 

Horror ! I'm growing to be like Hobkins ! I must 
stop. 

He's a capital fellow, though, and good company; only 
John and I have come to the conclusion that we really 
can't stand having another visitor yet awhile. 



March. What it has 

DONE FOR us. 



BY HOBKINS. 



[Talking of Hobkins, John happened one day to speak of somebody hav- 
ing been bom in the month of March. Straightway Hobkins opened a dis- 
course, wliich, biographically and clironologically, surpassed any thing I have 
ever heard. In fact, John was so favorably impressed, that our guest prom- 
ised to "work the thing up evenings." He did so, and here is the result. 
The v/onder to me is, that Hobkins was able to follow the same trail of 
research so steadily. No doubt he was stimulated by the difficulties arising 
from a conflict of authorities. It is needless to say that John and I were 
delighted; but somehow we were careful, during the rest of Mr. Hobkins's 
visit, not to mention any other month by name. — S. S.] 

N the good old times, when wolves thought nothing 
of taking princes to nurse, and the ingratitude 
of republics was undreamed of, there were fewer 
spokes in the year's revolving wheel than now; or, at 
least, men counted them differently. Romulus, who, as 
everybody knows, introduced the Roman calendar, with its 
ten spokes, very properly named the first Martins, or March, 
after his respected father, the god of war. Then came 
added months and re-modellings, from Julius Caesar down, 
until 1752, when the new styk \n?ls adopted in England, 
and January was made the first month of the twelve. 

19* 221 




222 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

However this arrangement may have served to lessen 
discrepancies between the calendar and the true solar year, 
I am sorry March could not have maintained the place 
given it by Romulus. Verily his reckoning was inspired 
by Nature herself ; for is not March the first, the waking 
month, the resurrection of the dead year ? Does she not 
start the forest into leaf and song, with her rushing tide 
of air and sunshine ? Does she not chase away the snow- 
drifts, and set the brooks running, and powder the soil 
with busy, invisible fingers, that the seed may send down 
its tender roots ? Does she not whistle her shrill sum- 
mons to the birds, and startle the drowsy insects into life? 
Of course she does. Therefore, in Nature's almanac, 
March shall ho. first to the end of time. As she rushed 
through the seven-hilled city ages ago, she sweeps through 
our midst to-day, crying, " Arise, arise ! the spring is 
come ! " 

There are other good reasons why March should make 
some little commotion when she visits the earth. We 
should bluster twice as loudly with one-half the cause. 
Few months can show such a record as hers. Many a 
March victory, a March discovery, a March invention, has 
left the world richer than it was before. She has ushered 
in some of the noblest lives humanity has ever known ; 
and, in God's time, has brought the final summons to those 
who left an undying name behind them. 

To be sure, there have been black sheep in her flocks ; 
but by that same blackness we can trace their fleece, be it 
never so finely spun, through the woof and warp of history. 
Whether the March weaving started or ended their course, 
they belong to her record. Perhaps, when her voice is 



MARCH. 223 

shrillest, when she goes screaming distractedly through the 
fields and forests, she is telling of them ; just as, when she 
bends in grand, majestic whisperings to the sunshine, she 
may be saying, " Angelo was one of my children. I car- 
ried Beethoven to heaven." 

Not a day in March but has its story to tell : if idle in 
one year, it is busy in another. Let us take up each in 
turn, and learn what we can. 

On the FIRST of March, 1469, William Caxton, at the 
request of the queenly Margaret, Duchess of Burgundy, 
commenced translating the " Recuyell of the Historyes of 
Troye." This remarkable work met with great favor in 
England ; and its large sale in manuscript copies, being at 
best slow and unsatisfactory, led to his putting it in type, 
— the first English^ book that ever was printed. 

The opening number of Addison's " Spectator " came 
in 1711, on the ist of March ; and so, in 1483, did a very 
different order of spectator, Francis Rabelais, who doubt- 
less saw more, thought more, and jested more, than any 
fifty other Frenchmen of his day. 

On the SECOND, in 1791, died Wesley, the founder of 
Methodism. On its anniversary, six years afterward, 
Horace Walpole, "slave of elegant trifles," yielded up his 
breath. It was on the 2d, in 1848, that Louis Philippe 
and his queen escaped from France, and sought shelter 
on British shores. Another 2d of March, long ago, sent 
a man-child into England, destined to become a bright 
ornament during the golden days of Elizabeth, and to 
leave the Bodleian Library as his monument upon earth. 

1 English, though really printed in Bruges. Very rare copies of this work 
are still to be seen ; one of them was sold, many years ago, at the Roxbury 
sale, for ii,o6o. 



224 THEOPklLUS AND OTHERS. 

On the THIRD, in 1632, George Herbert, he who sang, — 

" Sweet day 1 so cool, so calm, so bright," — 

verified his own, " all must die ; " and, on the 3d, came 
two sweet-voiced poets into England, — in 1605, Edward 
Waller, the smoothest singer of his day; and, forty-six 
years later, Thomas Otway, famous in dramatic verse. 

The FOURTH of March has had honorable work on hand 
many a time since our own national life began ; but, above 
all, that of 1865 stands apart, consecrated to a memory. 

On the FIFTH, in 1827, Laplace, the great philosopher, 
was ushered into that world whose mysteries even his 
piercing gaze had not been able to penetrate ; and on the 
5th, centuries before, Correggio was suddenly summoned 
to behold, in all its fulness, the grandeur and beauty that 
he had yearned to embody while on earth. But the man 
of many greatnesses had come earlier. In 1474, the 6th 
brought a tiny hand into the world, that afterwards pro- 
duced those masterpieces of art, — the works of Michael 
Angelo. 

March the eighth, 18 17, is identified with the birth of 
Layard, explorer of the antiquities of Nineveh, and with 
the death of two kings, — William III. of England, in 1702, 
and Bernadotte of Sweden, in 1844. 

The ninth, in 1792, brought forth William Cobbett, the 
most obstinate politician, the stanchest lover of agricul- 
ture, that ever lived. More than a century before, it had 
taken away a very different politician, Richelieu's pupil, 
the famous Cardinal Mazarin, slave of ambition, lover of 
art, and a man so wedded to appearances that he literally 
dressed for his death, so that his corpse might be well 



MARCH. 225 

shaven and rouged. In 1825, the 9th brought summons 
to a gentler victim, the venerable Mrs. Barbauld, after she 
had devoted nearly fifty years of her long life to the in- 
struction and entertainment of the young. 

The TENTH was noted, some two thousand years ago, for 
being the date of an interesting surgical operation, viz., 
amputation of the head, performed upon one Helioga- 
balus ; a complicated case of imperial villany. Men have 
nearly forgotten it now : the remedy has become less 
novel ; and, besides, more interesting events have come 
to pass on the i oth, such as the birth of Playf air the natu- 
ral philosopher, in 1748; of William Etty the painter, in 
1787 ; and, in 1820, the death of Benjamin West, the 
American President of the Royal Academy. 

Torquato Tasso, one of the greatest of Italian poets, in 
turn the pet and victim of Duke Alphonso of Ferrara, 
was born on the eleventh of March, 1544. 

On the twelfth, in 1684, came Bishop Berkeley, the 
philosopher, now chiefly remembered on account of his 
pet theory, — the non-existence of matter ; though his 
scheme of Christianizing the savages of America, and 
his persevering attempt to carry it out, show the man 
in a truer and nobler light. 

The thirteenth, in 1681, gave birth to a little English 
girl, whose name is recorded, in her parish church in 
Surrey, as Esther Johnson ; but to this day the world will 
insist upon calling her Stella, and all because of one Jona- 
than Swift, who loved her cruelly. Fifty-two years after- 
wards, on the same day, came the renowned Dr. Priest- 
ley, he of the English cradle and American grave, whose 
philosophical writings extend to nearly eighty volumes. 



226 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

Among those who wetit on the thirteenth, I find the 
•\veIl-known names of Belisarius in A.D. 565 ; and, passing 
over many centuries, La Fontaine, prince of fable-writers, 
Mignard, the eminent French painter (both in 1695), and, 
in 17 1 1, Boileau, who was considered almost a dunce till 
he was thirty, and then electrified France by his poetry, 
his wit, his sparkling companionship. On March 13, 18-^5, 
Regina Maria Roche, author of " Children of the Abbey," 
opened the eternal Book of Mysteries, which all who die 
shall read ; and on the same day, just nine years later, 
departed Thomas Noon Talfourd, the never-to-be-forgotten 
author of " Ion." 

Ninety-five years ago, on this same day of March, a 
lone watcher of the skies saw a new planet swim into his 
ken. It was William Herschel ; and the planet was Ura- 
nus, or, as he named it, the Georgium Sidus. 

The FOURTEENTH, in 1803, took Klopstock, the great 
German poet, away from a world that had used him more 
fairly than it generally uses men of genius ; and the same 
day, nearly fifty years before, saw Admiral Byng led out 
to die, in punishment for his having, as Voltaire said, " not 
gone near enough to a French admiral to whom his coun- 
try required him to give battle." 

March fifteenth stands immortal in the records of the 
past ; for on that day, on the ides of March, forty-four 
years before the Christian era, Julius Caesar, the greatest 
man of all antiquity, gathered his mantle about him, and 
feU. What must his dying glance have been to <?;/^ among 
that crowd of murderers, if to this day, " Et tu, Prute ! " 
gives humanity a pang ! 



MARCH. 227 

The calends, the nones, the ides — how strange and 
unmeaning the words to us ! Yet, in the old Roman 
times, all public events, all household changes, weddings, 
births, festivities, and funerals, were registered according 
to one or another of these leading divisions of the month. 
An event occurring on the ist of March, for instance, 
was dated the calefids, the first or call day ; if later, then 
as so many days before the nones, or ninth \ if later still, 
by giving the number of days before or after the ides. 

Thus each item of news had its sounding phrase. The 
little Flavins Augustus possibly cut his first tooth on the 
fourth before the nones of June ; his sister Antonia, it 
may be, went with young Aurelius to the Games on the 
calends of April ; and their noble uncle Caius Strabo (no 
relation to the historian) died at twilight on the ides of 
November. 

This last date would be styled by us November 13 ; 
for it was only in October, March, May, and July, that 
the ides fell upon the fifteenth of the month. 

We have remembered how, on the ides of March, ages 
ago, Brutus and his fellow-conspirators did violence to the 
noblest life of all antiquity. I am reminded now of one 
who, in our own generation, died a peaceful death on a 
15th of March, and was laid to rest in an old Italian 
church, beside the grave of Torquato Tasso. This is 
Mezzofanti of Bologna, probably the most remarkable 
linguist the world has ever known. There was scarcely a 
tongue, living or dead, that he did not master. It is said, 
that at the age of fifty he was proficient in as many lan- 
guages as he had lived years ; and, before he died, he was 
well acquainted with seventy. Think of a man who could 



228 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

read or converse fluently, not only in Latin and Greek, in 
English, French, German, Italian, Spanish, Dutch, and 
Portuguese, but also in Chinese, Russian, Turkish, Sanscrit, 
Coptic, Ethiopian, Abyssinian, and Sabaic, and scores of 
other languages and dialects, the very names of which would 
sound as unfamiliar to us as their own idioms ! Lord 
Byron once described him as " a walking polyglot, a mon- 
ster of languages, and a Briareus of parts of speech." It 
seems to me, that, since life at the best is short, to have 
spoken and studied in all his tongues, he could have been 
little else than a human Tower of Babel. 

And now, passing the ides of March, we must deal 
briefly with the remainder of the month ; for its days are 
rich with chronicled events, and with names already bla- 
zoned in the annals of fame. 

Archbishop Cranmer, who, but for the fickleness of 
that afflicted widower Henry VIIL, would possibly never 
have become eminent, and, but for the fidelity of the 
same many-sided monarch, would never have lived to 
call young Edward his king, was burned at the stake 
in March, 1556. Many a noble head has touched the 
block in this same eventful month. March has brought 
many a monarch into the world ; and to many it has 
brought death, — sometimes rudely, sometimes with mer- 
ciful gentleness. We know how Pompey, son-in-law of 
Caesar, triumvir of Rome, and only second among the 
conquerors of his day, fled at last, a hunted fugitive, into 
Egypt, and was murdered there two days after the ides of 
March, B. C. 45 ; how Nero fell by his own guilty hand 
just one hundred and thirteen years from that day ; and 
how, on the 23d of March, 1369, a new Cain rose up 



MARCH. 229 

on Spanish soil to slay that black-hearted tyrant, Peter the 
Cruel. 

We know how the summons came to James the First 
in March, 1625, leaving his double crown to a head that 
sat firmly enough on its shoulders then ; and who does 
not remember that royal death-bed on the 24th of March, 
1603, from which Elizabeth of England went forth sceptre- 
less and unattended into the unknown land ? 

March gave us Raffaelle in 1483,^ and Vandyck in 
1599. The birthday (22d) of the latter is richer since 
1822 ; for it marks the years of Rosa Bonheur, Seven 
days later comes the anniversary of Thorwaldsen's death 
in 1844; 3.nd on the last of the month, in 1837, that of Con- 
stable, noted among the landscape-painters of England. 

To Beethoven and Haydn also, March gave the same 
birthday; for on the 31st, in 1732, Haydn was born into 
this life ; and on the 31st, in 1827, Beethoven was born into 
heaven. One year before, Von Weber had left the world 
his "last waltz;" and on March 2, in 1854, the match- 
less voice of Rubini was stilled forever. 

In the course of the research necessary in giving 
March her due, one truth has manifested itself which 
would have been invaluable to Buckle. 

March is lavish in bringing fresh and beautiful impulses 
to Nature. There is no death in her touches here — only 
life ; life in tree and shrub and blade ; life in the quickened 
sunshine, in the very stones, in old logs and timbers, in 
the stirring pavement of the woods ! But with mankind 
she is less prodigal in her gifts ; indeed, more inclined 

I Some authorities say April. — S. S. 



230 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

to rob than to enrich. Though she often has sent rare 
lives into tlie world, she of tener does the same work among 
mortals that her good sister November does to the fields, 
— blights them for a fresher blooming. Her glorious 
cradles are fewer than her honored graves. 

Let there be no misunderstanding : I mean to cast no 
slur upon March babies in general. Millions and millions 
of these there have been, all astonishing in their way, 
each more remarkable than any before, — in fact, the very 
paragons of babyhood ; but somehow their names flour- 
ish in the family record rather than in the biographical 
dictionary. Their waxen, baby fingers may have tugged 
at the very heartstrings of their household, (God be 
praised for that same !) but the pioneer axes of progress, 
the tillers of government, the torches that light humanity 
through the darkness, but few of them have grasped. 
Therefore I repeat, March, as a rule, does not show her 
strength in her cradles. 

There have been some famous ones, however, in which 
lay folded nearly all that is great or possible in humanity, 
whether for good or evil. If you are willing to stride over 
a century now and then, we can take a hasty peep into 
some of the cradles of the past. 

First of all, see Ovid lying asleep through his first day- 
light, March 20,43 years B. C. {(^y- — Did they have 
cradles in ancient Salmo ?] Next, making a leap over 
time and space, see Robert Bruce, a dear, sonsie little bud 
of a king, shaking his tiny Scotch fist at England in the 
March of 1274; next in 15 16 see Conrad Gesnerat Zurich 
on the 26th, a few hours old, unconscious that he is des- 
tined to be one of the noblest men, one of the most learned 



MARCH. 231 

philosophers, of his day; and, all the while, Botany is 
waiting for him to grow up and introduce her to the world 
as a science. And then, in March, 1596, take a peep at 
the helpless, new-born Descartes, whose philosophies shall 
one day muddle mankind. 

Step onward, please, into the eighteenth century, — 
March 29, 1738. 

Who is this little creature, with his soft, peachy cheek, 
and his smiling mouth, already a miniature copy of his 
beautiful French mother ,!* Be careful ! It is Joseph Guil- 
lotin : already he may have taken a hint from the carven 
cradle-top over his head. That same Joseph, in his hu- 
manity, not his cruelty, shall one day tell the National 
Assembly to put its victims to death, if they must do it at 
all, with mercy and skill ; and he will make them a guil- 
lotine for the purpose. 

While Joseph is still a child, promoted to marbles and 
kites, and proud of his ten years of boyhood, we can visit 
another March cradle (23, 1749), containing Peter Simon 
Laplace, swaddled in flannel, but smiling a meaning baby- 
smile. Who knows ? Perhaps spirit voices are telling 
him of all that he shall live to accomplish. No : the smile 
is too simple for that. I think it is because he hears that 
Napoleon will some day make him a count, that Louis 
XVIII. will honor him still further. Moving onward, we 
note a grave also. Its stone is dated March 5, 1827 ; and 
beneath it sleeps the form of the Marquis de Laplace. 

Ah ! here is a cradle, all trimmed with snowy muslin 
and ribbons \ It is only a girl-baby, to be sure, and the 
parents are plain people ; and there is a shock-headed 
boy of twelve peeping in at the door, asking when he can 



232 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

kiss his new sister. But see what the father, a well-known 
musician of his day, is writing on a certain leaf of the fam- 
ily Bible ! It is German ; but we can translate it : " Born 
March i6, 1750, Caroline Lucretia Herschel." The boy 
William, standing outside, will be proud of his sister one 
of these days. 

Two years later, on the i6th, another little girl, destined 
to be famous, opened her eyes to the light. She is re- 
membered now as Madame Campan, the French histori- 
cal writer. , 

There are not, I believe, many more March cradles 
worth noting. That of the renowned Dr. Chalmers grew 
heavier, by a baby's weight, on the 17th of March, 1780; 
and so, precisely one year afterward, did that of Ebenezer 
Elliott, the Corn Law Rhymer. 

Still another cradle was filled, on the iSth, in 1782. 
Fortunately the rockers, not believing in independent 
sovereignty, moved in unison, or the little John C. Cal- 
houn would not have slept so peacefully. Sixty-eight 
years afterward, a March grave opened to receive the 
weary body of the South Carolina statesman. 

Re-crossing the ocean, we wander into a darkened room 
over a butcher's shop, in the town of Nottingham, Eng- 
land. There is a baby here (March 21, 1787), who will 
one day be a butcher-boy, next a stocking-weaver, then a 
lawyer's clerk, then a dying student of divinity at Cam- 
bridge ; through all displaying qualities of heart and mind 
that have rendered the name of Henry Kirke White hon- 
ored beyond his generation. Only twenty-one years on 
earth ; but what a lesson he gave of patient perseverance, 
of indomitable energy, of lofty will, that even the tyranny 
of bodily infirmity could not subdue 1 



MARCH. 233 

There is yet another March cradle, — a cradle so sugges- 
tive, so fraught with deep philosophies and reflections, 
that one almost rebels at skipping past it in a paragraph. 
But there is no alternative. Let us be content to see that 
it is a beautiful cradle, furnished with imperial magnifi- 
cence ; that the very air floating about it is perfumed with 
the breath of a palace ; that the hopes and prayers of a 
nation cluster around its downy pillows. And, after all, 
it holds only an ordinary infant. Ah ! If Josephine had 
been the mother, all might have ended so differently ! 
But I must not moralize nor speculate. The wisest plan 
is to call in Capt. Cuttle. Overhaul your French history, 
March 20, 181 1, and, when found, stick a pin in it. 

It is not pleasant to hunt up old graves as it is to 
peer into cradles, because, even with faith pointing up- 
wards, our thoughts will crawl under the slabs and monu- 
ments in search of our so-called dead. To the freed souls 
looking on, how strange this must seem ! 

Still visible among the debris of ages, are the sculp- 
tured names of Phocion, the great Athenian, as good as 
he was great, who died in March, 317 years B. C. ; and 
Caesar and Mark Antony, and many other famous men of 
antiquity, who, according to the best authorities, closed 
their earthly career in the waking month. 

All along the highways of history we can find March 
graves, and in the narrower and more winding paths of 
life we see them proudly rearing their inscriptions to the 
daylight. Our time is short : we must read them as we 
run. 

Among those of the seventeenth century, we meet with 
the name of a player distinguished in his art, immortal 
20* 



234 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

from the fact that his fellow-actor Shakspeare saw him 
play Hamlet and Romeo and Macbeth, — one Burbage, 
who made his final "exit "on the i6th of March, i6ig. 
Also we find in 1640 Philip Massinger, whose life, though 
illumed by bright gifts, was but one long winter's day ; 
and Charlotte Tremouille (1663), a shining star among 
heroic women; and, in 1677, Wenceslaus Hollar, the 
famous but luckless engraver of Bohemia, whose works, 
it is said, numbered nearly twenty-four hundred plates. 

In the eighteenth century we find honored names. 
Here is Sebastian de Vauban, the greatest military engi- 
neer of France (March 30, 1707); next. Sir Isaac New- 
ton, who, winding his watch on the 20th of March, 1727, 
fell back, and spoke no more ; next, Jean Baptist Rous- 
seau, the celebrated French poet, who died in banishment 
on the 17th, 1741 ; Laurence Sterne, a non-reverend di- 
vine, who, nevertheless, had veins of pure gold in his 
earthy nature (i8th, 1766); William Smith, the English 
geologist, (23d, 1769); Swedenborg, father of one faith, 
and thought-giver to many another (29th, 1772) ; and, last 
of all, one of England's polished ornaments. Lord Ches- 
terfield, who on March 24, 1773, after Dayroles was com- 
fortably seated, closed his eyes, and died, as he had lived, 
a gentleman. 

Now we come to fresher graves, though scarcely greener 
memories. Only a few of the names can be read in such 
a hasty glance as this, — among them John Home Tooke 
(March 18, 1812), renowned in English politics, and none 
the worse for a word-combat with that writer in an iron 
mask, the immortal Junius ; and, greater than all, the name 
of Goethe, whose dying request for " more light " was glo- 
riously answered on March 22, 1832. 



MARCH. 235 

There are others, whose monuments are plainly visible ; 
but, as their names have already been mentioned, we view 
them silently, and pass on. 

Here are two, on opposite sides of the British Channel, 
but bearing the same date, March 21, 1843. One tells of 
Baron La Motte Fouque, dear to the hearts of France j 
the other, of Robert Southey, poet-laureate of England, 

Twice since then, — in 1855 and i860, — has March, 
with bated breath, whispered the summons to those whom 
the world would fain have kept a little longer, — Anna 
Jameson and Charlotte Bronte. They have grown so dear 
to us, these two, that we will not call them dead. The 
homes of the immortals may be nearer than we think. 

And now, is not March a memorable month ? Ask 
Nature ; ask the busy, ever-changing world ; ask the 
Christian Church, constant in her memories ; ask March 
herself. If any one can blow her own trumpet, surely it 
is she. 



The Rights of the Body. 




RUCIFY the flesh, if you will : that's all well 
enough in its way ; but honor the flesh too, say 
I. Second in importance only to the human 
soul, the body cannot in itself be low and base. In many 
ways the body shapes and colors the soul, even as the 
soul colors and shapes the body. Therefore I repeat, 
honor it, study it. It has to hold you while you are here : 
therefore hold you it reverently and with care so long as 
you are in it. 

The jests and gibes that are flung at the human body ! 
The absurd conjectures, and insinuations ! The contempt- 
ble comparisons ! 

"What of its vaunted powers?" sneers one. "Can it 
build like a bee, scent like a hound, sleep like a toad, 
hold on like a leech, jump like a grasshopper, or climb 
like a monkey ? " " And its voice ! " says another. 
" Why, if the volume of a human voice bore the relative 
proportion to a man's size that the note of a canary bears 
to the bird's exquisite form, his lightest word could be 
heard at a distance of eight hundred miles." And still 
another malcontent has suggested, that " if man only had, 
236 



RIGHTS OF THE BODY. 237 

relatively to his bulk, the jumping power of the tiniest 
flea, he could spring from New York to China at a single 
bound ! " 

" If he had proportionately the jumping powers of a 
flea," forsooth ! Stuff and nonsense ! The idea of a 
rational being jumping from New York to China ! A 
man never was intended to be like a flea. If you put 
your finger on him, is he not there ? — unless he owes you 
money, which, of course, alters the case. 

It is one of the growing evils of the age, — this speak- 
ing so lightly of the noble human creature. I cannot 
express the indignation with which I read yesterday the 
following precious item, by a scientific writer : — 

" If a man, weighing one hundred and forty pounds, 
were squeezed in a hydraulic press, seventy pounds of 
water would run out, the balance being solid matter. A 
man is, chemically speaking, forty-five pounds of carbon 
and other elements, with nitrogen, diffused through five 
and a half pailfuls of water." 

Think of that ! There's a pretty bit of information to 
introduce into the sanctity of home ; to pour into the ears 
of growing boys and girls ! Where would Mr. Snapp's 
dignity be, I'd like to know, if the children understood 
that he was only " half and half," like his sometime bever- 
age? What if, after he had delivered a few impressive 
words of paternal rebuke and counsel to the children, I 
should say to them, " Don't mind your father, my dears : 
he's only a little carbon, nitrogen, and other elements, 
diffused through five and a half pailfuls of water " ? A 
pretty state of things we should have after that ! 

No, my friends : joking aside, this sort of thing will not 



238 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

do. You must respect the body, and teach your children 
to do likewise. It's the best material thing that Heaven 
has made yet ; and I don't believe it's going to be excelled 
in this world. 

Far be it from me to suppress the truth. If it can be 
scientifically demonstrated that our most solid men are 
really five and a half pailfuls of water, let the fact stand: 
that is a mere question of condition. What I beg leave 
to uphold is the dignity of the human body as we know 
it, and not under the hydraulic press. Therefore again I 
say, respect the body, dear men and women. Speak of it 
reverently, as it deserves. Behold, how fine a thing it is I 
" in form and moving how express and admirable ! " 

Respect the body : study its needs, and meet them. 
Don't take it into unworthy places ; give it sunshine, pure 
air, and exercise. Be conscientious as to what you put 
down its throat. Remember, what is fun to the cook and 
confectioner may be death to //. Treat it at least as well 
as you would your pet horse or hound. Give it good, 
wholesome food ; let it be on intimate terms with friction 
and soap and water ; and especially don't render it ridic- 
ulous by your way of dressing it. 

Recognize the dignity of the body : hold it erect when 
you're awake, and let it lie out straight when you're 
asleep. Don't let it go through the world with little 
mincing steps, nor great gawky strides. Don't swing its 
arms overmuch, and don't let them grow limp from inac- 
tivity. Resolve to respect its shoulders, its back, its fair 
proportions generally ; and straightway shall struts and 
stoops and wriggles be unknown forever. 

Respect the body : give it what it requires, and no 



RIGHTS OF THE BODY. 239 

more. Don't pierce its ears, strain its eyes, or pinch its 
feet ; don't roast it by a hot fire all day, and smother it 
under heavy bed-covering all night ; don't put it in a cold 
draught on slight occasions, and don't nurse or pet it to 
death : don't dose it with doctor's stuffs ; and, above all, 
don't turn it into a wine-cask or a chimney. Let it be 
" warranted not to smoke " from the time your manhood 
takes possession. 

Respect the body : don't over-work, over-rest, nor over- 
love it, and never debase it ; but be able to lay it down 
when you are done with it, a well-worn but not a misused 
thing. Through all your days, let it walk hand in hand 
with your noblest self ; and, my word for it, though it will 
not jump to China at a bound, you'll find it a most excel- 
lent thing to have — especially in the country. 



WOMAN'S Driving. 




I'M out of breath ; for I've just been off driving 

with our neighbor, Mrs. G , who held the 

reins, and friglitened me nearly to death. But, 
out of breath or not, I must speak my mind before I take 

off my bonnet. As for Mrs. G , I have nothing to 

say of her. She's a good neighbor on foot ; and, if she 
had chanced to be the only survivor of any one of the ten 
accidents that miraculously didn't happen this morning, 
my heart tells me she would have mourned me truly, and 
comforted poor John as well as she could. But this I will 
say : no woman ought to attempt to drive a horse, until 
she knows precisely how to harness and unharness that 
noble animal ; no woman should drive, who cannot dis- 
tinguish " a shy " from symptoms of blind staggers ; no 
woman should drive, who hasn't presence of mind, who 
hasn't a firm hand, who can't fasten a tie-strap, or who 
gasps out, " Whoa-a-a, sir ! " to a frightened horse, as if 
she were about to faint. Neither should a woman drive, 
who at one moment lets the reins go flippetty-flap on the 
horse's back, jerks them violently the next ; or who, un- 
skilled in peremptory coaxing or the use of the lash, is 
240 



WOMAN'S DRIVING. 24 1 

constantly inflicting feeble horizontal whippings with the 
entire length of the lines. And, more than all, a woman 
who believes that only slow horses are safe should never 
be trusted with any human life but her own. These 
wretched pokes of horses, that stumble and back and stop 
just when they ought not, that are too sleepy to heed 
the lines, and too stupid to be turned around in a space 
not big enough for a camel-dance, are the special pets of 
poor drivers among our gentle sex ; yet how very dan- 
gerous such horses are ! 

I know what I am saying. Some women can drive, and 
some call not ; and those who ca?i will not consider the 
above remarks at all personal. They feel their power, 
and take a pride in the art. They know how every failure 
a woman makes in any department hurts the credit of 
every other woman who ever afterward may express a 
desire to attempt to do any thing. A man may meet 
twenty poor male drivers in an hour, and his comment, if he 
has noticed their deficiencies at all, will be that they were 
" not half men," they didn't know how to drive ; but, if 
they see one female driver who fails to handle the reins 
skilfully, they straightway decide, and declare for years 
to come, that a woman can't drive, and that's the long and 
short of it. 

So, dear sisters, be considerate. For the credit of all 
womankind, know what you are about when you attempt 
the slightest feat of horsemanship. Put your judgment 
into the work ; learn the practical bearings of the undertak- 
ing. They're simple enough. Take up common-sense 
with your reins, and resolution with your whip ; and never 
for a moment allow a mere animal to make you forget 



242 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

your human superiority. Telegraph your soul through 
the lines, if you can ; be brave, brisk, calm, and mag- 
netic, or don't ask me to go out with you in your lovely 
new buggy. 

There, I feel better 1 I'll ask Mrs. G over to 

tea. 



United Ages. 




MAY not be a Bedlam maniac, as Susan Nipper 
would say, but there are some things in this world 
that do make me right up and down mad ! One 
of these is the ridiculous way certain newspaper folk and 
domestic wonder-mongers have of announcing the united 
ages of a number of persons by way of producing — 
uncommon sense only knows what. 

Certainly not astonishment, for early in life we cease to 
start at the proposition that eighty and seventy make a 
hundred and fifty ; surely not a sense of the sublime, 
since the idea of a dozen ordinary persons being able to 
constitute one Methuselah almost robs the great patriarchal 
fact of its grandeur ; and most decidedly not amusement, 
for the thought of thus Siamesing so many infirm human 
existences is dismal to the extreme. 

What, then, can induce any one to unite ages ? or is it 
I who am at fault, being too dull to perceive the majesty 
of a conglomerate individual ? 

No : if three or more aged men happen to be together, 
they are three aged men, and that's all there is about it. 
You can't make a triple-headed veteran out of the lot, any 

243 



244 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

more than you can make a forty-pound fish out of a shoal 
of minnows. As for trying to make a human addition 
sum out of the three, it is enough to make Old Time throw 
his hour-glass at the head of the calculator. 

Only yesterday I read in a morning paper, an account 
of an interesting family reunion on the event of a fine old 
gentleman reaching the ripe age of ninety-three. So far, 
so good. It was a beautiful occasion to celebrate. There 
were the descendants, plenty of them, and all in regular 
order. Still no offence. Nobody could expect an old 
gentleman of ninety-three to have a grand family reunion 
without any descendants. The account put me in quite a 
glow of kindly feeling, when suddenly, without the least 
warning, I came upon this exhausting paragraph : — 

" The combined ages of the children, grandchildren, 
and greait-grandchildren are seven hundred and sixteen 
years." 

Think of that, now ! that is, if you can think of it. 
I can't. I tried at first to divide the whole into children, 
grandchildren, and great-grandchildren ; and they spread 
out indefinitely from a dozen to a hundred. Then, scan- 
ning the account further, I managed to discover that there 
were four children, eighteen grandchildren, and seven 
great-grandchildren. Ah ! thought I, now we have it ! 
The combined number of these is 29 ; and 29 goes into 
716 — goes into 716 — about twenty-four or twenty-five 
times. What then? Should I, by making each of the 
combined nearly twenty-five years old, rob the grand- 
fathers and grandmothers of two-thirds of their natural 
lives, and make the baby great-grandchildren exceedingly 
backward for their age ? or should I calculate the thing 



UNITED AGES. 245 

on a common-sense basis, and allow a difference of about 
twenty years to each generation ? Absurd ! I scorned 
to do either. It's a case for the lightning-calculator in 
his dotage ! 

Again, we sometimes hear of a pew-full of elderly cit- 
izens whose united ages, we are told, amount to, say four 
hundred years. What of it? What good does it do? 
Are we to understand that there were six hoary individuals 
in the pew, each of them crowned with sixty-six years and 
eight months ? Probably not. Were there three, each of 
them about a hundred and thirty-three last Christmas ? 
Preposterous ! Then perhaps there were four, and each of 
them — 

" But," interposes your startling announcer, " the num- 
ber is known. There were five." Ah ! that simplifies 
matters at once. Undoubtedly they were just eighty years 
old apiece ; or, if not, they ought to have been, or else 
seated themselves in separate pews, and not disturbed the 
meeting by suggesting arithmetical conundrums. 

This sort of thing, I repeat, makes me furious. If it is 
done at all, it should be done thoroughly, and on a grand 
scale. Let the morning papers, for instance, come out 
with something like this : — 

" Broadway presented a remarkable spectacle yesterday 
afternoon, — remarkable even for this most wonder-pre- 
senting thoroughfare of our metropolis. The streets were 
thronged with our oldest and most respectable citizens, 
many of whom carried gold-headed canes. United ages 
of all pedestrians between Fourteenth and Vesey Streets, 
at the time our reporter left, 8,673,043,271,975 years." 

Or, perhaps, this : — 



246 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 

" BY TELEGRAPH — ANOTHER TERRIBLE 
DISASTER. — We shudder to record that the Pacific 
Railroad express-train to San Francisco, in consequence 
of a misprint in the time-table, last evening collided with 
a freight train in a gorge of the Rocky Mountains. The 
train was loaded to excess. Nobody killed ; but every pas- 
senger was paralyzed for over ten minutes by the shock. 
Tender infants, blooming maidens, middle-aged parents, 
and venerable grandsires — one and all shared the same 
fate. Some idea of the extent of this dreadful calamity 
may be gathered from the fact that the aggregated 
ages of the passengers amount to 52,089,742,3011- years ! " 

Horrible ! Figuring this out carefully, by fl'^erential 
calculus, it would make our very venerable monster of an 
Aggregate motionless and helpless for six years, five 
months, four days, and twenty minutes. Once let an idea 
like that be impressed upon the public mind, and railroad 
companies will have to look out ! 

Or, for a change, let somebody publish the fact, that in 
a certain ward of the Scroogstown Foundling Asylum, 
there are fifty individuals whose united ages make just 
two years ! • This would be vastly more interesting, and 
wouldn't tax one's arithmetic so cruelly. 

And now, my friends, as our dear old parson used to 
say (and he was a responsible man, I'm sure, because his 
"united ages," taking in wife and eight children, amounted 
to at least three hundred and ninety-two years), we'll 
conclude. 

Hold ! A thought staggers me ! Purchasers of this 
volume, probably sixty thousand ; readers, at least three 
hundred thousand ; combined ages of these, not in years, 
but in minutes, would be — 



UNITED AGES. 247 

The thought is too immense ! Let them wait until S. S. 
is no more. Then let the sum total of the years of all 
her readers be calculated for the benefit of inquiring 
friends ; but let it never be inscribed upon the monu- 
mental stone erected by sorrowing kindred over 

ONE 

WHO DID NOT BELIEVE 
IN 

STUFF AND NONSENSE. 



" Of more valus 
Tkan atampa in gold, or sums in sealed bagt."— 

Shakespeajcs. 

THE 

SANS-SOUCI SERIES. 

Personal Kemmiscences of Famous Poets and ITovelists, "Wits and Humorists, 
Artists, Actors, Musicians, and the like. 

EDITED BY 

RICHARD HENRY STODDARD. 



The Sans-Souci Series is based upon the same general idea that secured such sudden 
and deserved popularity for the Bkic-a-Brac Series. In the ten volumes of that collection were 
carefully gathered up the choicest gleanings from numerous biographies and memoirs, published 
during the last quarter of a century, and nearly all of which would have disappeared into oblivion 
altogether had it not been for this happy conception, by which the wheat that they contained 
was thus separated from the chaff. But distinguished men and women, or those who have been 
on intimate relations with them, are constantly passing away, and biographies, autobiographies, 
and memoirs are appearing with a rapidity never before equaled. Those wishing to learn the 
lessons that are taught by the lives of the great and good, as they are rehearsed in these volumes, 
are anxious to get at them as directly as possible ; those who read them for amusement are impa- 
tient of ihe time lost in finding for themselves the entertaining and the amusing. The skill with 
which Mr. Stoddard performed this service of gathering for the Bric-a-Bkac Series all that de- 
served to be saved for its worth, or for its wit, is the only introduction he needs as Editor of the 
Sans-Souci Series. While it shall be the chief aim of this series to keep abreast of current biog- 
raphies and memoirs, it will also venture into fields which have heretofore been left untouched. 
Our own Revolutionary period, and certain important epochs in French and English history, 
which are best illustrated by the personal characteristics of the men who were prominent in them, 
will receive attention. While permanent value will thus be given to this collection, the purpose 
of the series, as expressed in the title, shall never be lost sight of, and every care shall be taken 
to make each volume an agreeable companion for the hours of " idleness and care." 

Now ready. The initial volume of the series. 
HAYDON'S LIFE, LETTERS AND TABLE TALK. 

One volume, i2mo, with /our illustrations. Portraits of Wordsworth, 
Haydon, Keats and Wilkie, and fac-simile of a letter by Haydon. Tastefully 
bound in extra cloth, black and crimson $1.50. 

" Since the appearance of the Greville Memoirs, there has been no collection of reminis- 
cences which compares with this in point and interest." — N. Y. Daily Times. 

The second volume, to be issued shortly, will be entitled 

" MEN AND MANNERS ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO." 

Edited by Mr. H. E. Scudder, 
And comprising extremely interesting reminiscences of persons distinguished 
in this country during the Revolutionary period. One vol. i2mo., with 
illustrations, $1.50. 

*j^* A Prospectus of the Sans-Souci Series will be sent on application. 

The above volumes sent to any address, prepaid, upon the receipt of the 
price, by 

SCRIBNER, ARMSTRONG & CO., NEW YORK. 



"Infinite riches in a little room." —Marlowe. 



COMPLETION OF THE FIRST 

BRIC-A-BRAC SERIES. 

Personal Eeminiscences of famous Poets and Novelists, Wits and 
Humorists, Ai'tists, Actors, Musicians, and the like. 

EDITED BY 

RICHARD HENRY STODDARD. 

Complete in ten volumes, square 12nio. Per vol. $1.50. 



The BRIC-A-BRAC SERIES has achieved for itself a success altogether 
exceptional in the history of publishing in this country. 

OVER SIXTY THOUSAND VOLUMES 

Of the first series have been sold in eighteen months. The Bric-a-Brac 
Series constitutes a 

COMPLETE REPOSITORY OF REMINISCENCES 

Of prominent men and women of this and the last century. Characteristic 
anecdotes of every individual of note in art, literature, the drama, politics, or 
society are related, and they are told by those who know how to give point to 
a good story. 

THE SERIES COMPRISES THE FOLLOWING TEN VOLUMES : 



I. Chorley, Planche, and Young. 
II. Thackeray and Dickens, with fac-simile 
of a letter by Thackeray. 
III. Merimkk, Lamartine, and Sand. 
IV. Barham, Harness, and Hodder. 
V. The Greville Memoirs, with Portrait 
of Greville. 
VI. Moore and Jerdan, with 4 Illustrations. 



VII. Cornelia Knight and Thomas 
Raikes, with 4 Illustrations. 
VIII. O'Keeffe, Kelly, and Taylor, with 
4 Illustrations. 
IX. Lamb, Hazlitt, and Others, with 4 
Illustrations and fac-simile of a letter 
by Lamb. 
X. Constable and Gillies, with 4 Illus- 
trations. 



A sixteen-page Descriptive Catalogue of the Series, containing Specimen Jllus- 
trations, sent to any address upon application.. 



NOW MJEADY: 

COMPLETE SETS OF THE BRIC-A-BRAC SERIES IN THE 
FOLLOWING STYLES: — 

Cloth, in a neat box $i5-oo 

Half vellum, red edges, in a handsome box, of an entirely new 

style 17-50 

Half calf, extra, in a handsome box, of an entirely new style 20.00 

Sent, post-paid, or express charges paid, on receipt of price by the Publishers, 

SORIBNER, ARMSTRONG, & CO. 

7-i:^ tU 7dt5 Broadway, New York. 



An Important Historical Series. 

Epochs of Modern History. 

EDITED BY 

EDWARD E. MORRIS, M.A., and J. SURTEES PHILLPOTTS, B.CL 



Each 1 vol, 16mo. with Outline Maps. Price per volnme, in cloth, $1.00i 

HISTORIES of countries are rapidly becoming so nnmerous that it is almost impossible 
for the most industrious student to keep pace with them. Such works are, of course, 
still less likely to be mastered by those of limited leisure. It is to meet the wants of thia 
very numerous class of readers that the Epochs of History has been projected. The series 
will comprise a number of compact, handsomely printed manuals, prepared by thoroughly 
competent hands, each volume complete in itself, and sketching succinctly the most impor- 
tant epochs in the world's history, always making the history of a nation subordinat<) to this 
more general idea. No attempt will be made to recount all the events ot any given period. 
The aim will bo to bring out in the clearest light th. salient incidents and features of each 
epoch. Special attention will be paid to the literature, manners, state of knowledge, and all 
those characteristics which exhibit the life of a people as well as the policy of their rulers 
during any period. To make the text more readily intelligible, outline maps will be given 
with each volume, and where thia arrangement is desirable they will be distributed through- 
out the text BO as to be more easy of reference. A series of works based upon this general 
plan can not fail to be widely useful in popularizing history as science has been popularized. 
Those who have been discouraged from attempting more ambitious works because of their 
magnitude, will naturally turn to these Epochs of History to get a general knowledge of 
any period ; students may use them to great advantage in refreshing their memories and in 
keeping the true perspective of events, and in schools they will be of immense service as text 
books,— a point which shall be kept constantly in view in their preparation. 

THE FOLLOWING VOLUMES ARE NOW READY: 

THE ERA OF THE PROTESTANT REVOLUTION. By F. Seebohm, Author 
of " The Oxford Reformers — Colet, Erasmus, More," with an appendix by Prof. 
Geo. p. Fisher, of Yale College. Author of " HISTORY OF THE REF- 
ORMATION." 

THE CRUSADES. By Rev. G. W. Cox, M.A., Author of the "History of 
Greece." 

THE THIRTY YEARS' WAR, 1618-1648. By Samuel Rawson Gardiner. 

THE HOUSES OF LANCASTER AND YORK; with the CONQUEST and 
LOSS of FRANCE. By James Gairdner of the Public Record Ofiice. 

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION AND FIRST EMPIRE: an Historical Sketch. 
By William O'Connor Morris, with an appendix by Hon. Andrew D. 
White, President of Cornell University. 

THE AGE OF ELIZABETH. By Rev. M. Creighton, M.A. 

THE FALL OF THE STUARTS AND WESTERN EUROPE FROM 
1678 to 1697. By Rev. E. Hale, M.A. 

THE PURITAN REVOLUTION 1603-1660. By S. R. Gardiner. 

49* Copies sent post-paid, on receipt of price, by the Publishers, 

SCRIBNER, ARMSTKONG & CO., f^j ii' 7^^ Broadway, New York- 



A New and Elegantly Illustrated Edition of 

HANS BRINKER; 

Or, THE SILVER SKATES. 

-A. STORY Oin Limif! IN HOLLAND. 

By Mrs. MARY MAPES DODGE, 

Author of "Rhymes and Jingles," and Editor of " St. Nicholas." 

With 60 Illustrations, after designs by the best French Artists. 



One vol., 12mo, eloth, beveled edges, $3.00. 

From the Nation. 
"We some time ago expressed our opinion that Mrs. Mary Mapes Dodge's delightful 
children's story, called Hans Brinker ; or. The Silver Skates, deserved an entirely new 
dress, with illustrations made in Holland instead of in America. The publishers have just 
issued an edition in accordance with this suggestion, and we hope it is not too late in the 
season to announce the fact. The pictures are admirable, and the whole volume, in appearance 
and contents, need not fear comparison with any juvenile publication of the year, or of many 
years." 

From the Buffalo Courier. 
"Mrs. Dodge's beautiful story ol Hans Brinker comes forth again radiant in the splendor 
of this new edition. The book is exquisitely printed and gorgeously bound, and the illustra- 
tions — well, some of them are the finest things 'on ice' we have lately seen, while all give such 
quaint in-looks to the life and manners and scenery of Holland that the young reader can 
scarcely help vowing to travel thither as soon as he or she grows up. . . . We can well 
believe that wherever it goes it will become a children's classic." 

From the Syracuse yournal. 
"Around this story of life in Holland Mrs. Dodge has woven, with charming grace and 
effect, the tender sentiments of childhood and youth, which she knows so well how to picture 
to life. Not one of the thousands of boys and girls who on Christmas Day will take up this 
beautiful volume will lay it down until the last leaf is turned." 

From the Boston Advertiser. 
"This book has been a great favorite not only in America but in other lands. The author 
has every reason to be gratified at the success and constant popularity of this charming 
narrative, which teaches so finely the noblest lessons of character and life, while picturing the 
customs and scenes of Holland. S. A. & Co. have done a good thing in publishing a new 
edition in a style befitting the hoHdays, and containing sixty illustrations of superior merit." 

From the PhiladelJ>hia Inquirer. 
"The interest throughout is varied and sustained in a manner that leaves nothing to be 
desired, and the book is written in the piquant and fascinating style characteristic of the 
authoress. It is remarkably well illustrated and bound in a resplendent fashion. Nothing <A 
the kind could be more acceptable to juveniles for a Christmas present." 

For sale by booksellers {generally. Will be sent, fost-paid, on receipt of the price by 
the publishers, 

SCRIBNER, ARMSTRONG & CO., 

7-43 <St 74.S Broadway, Mew York, 



^^ 




